the Photographer and the Lonely Artist
by ALostHeart
Summary: Caroline is a professional photographer lacking inspiration. Desperately, she sets out to find a muse, only to find it unexpectedly in a lonesome artist who spends his time painting in a park. Between love and friendship, silence and sound, fear and comfort, brokenness and perfection, the two embark on a journey that strives to put together the missing pieces of their lives. AU/AH.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello darlings! You're probably wondering what this is and it's exactly what it looks like a story. OK that was lame. What I'm trying to get at is that this is the drabble that I wrote a while ago which a LOT (and by that I mean like REALLY A LOT) of people wanted a continuation of. So, I have news for you my friends! This is exactly what's happening. It's gonna be a three chapters (approximately) long story! Now, unfortunately for those who have read the drabble either in my drabbles selection here or on tumblr, this first chapter is consistent wholly from the first drabble. So there's nothing new for you guys here. But the next chapter is gonna be posted very _very_ soon. So soon I mean like around tomorrow evening.**

 **AU, All Human of course!**

 **Now I'm gonna shut up I promise. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own TVD..etc etc**

* * *

The first time she sees him, she is caught in a frenzy.

Caroline Forbes, accomplished and famous photographer, is lacking inspiration. Never in her life has she felt so uninterested in anything around her. Whatever idea thrown upon her seems boring. And she is increasingly frustrated with herself.

But even more frustrated is her boss, or rather, the gallery owner.

"Caroline you have clients" he says in his stoic tone, never unfriendly, but never familiar or intimate either "You cannot simply disappear. Not when they have been bombarding me with questions about your next big show. You must give me something"

Sighing, Caroline runs her hands through her blonde curls, willing her mind to conjure up any kind of solution to her problem "I will do my best, Elijah" she replies at last, offering a small smile "But you know that if I'm not inspired I can't give you anything of value. It doesn't work that way for me"

Tilting his head, Elijah smiles amusedly "Miss Forbes, I promise you, it's only the perfectionist in you who thinks that. Your work is marvelous. And in spite of my personal bias towards the photographs that show your passion, your clients love all your work to pieces."

She knows he's asking of something possibly less artistic and more for marketing business in his own subtle ways. Elijah is far too smart to do anything more than hint at such a thing, realizing fully how much Caroline despises merchandizing her work that is nothing short of art. However, Caroline is far too polite to call Elijah out on it. She's also far too grateful to cause him any losses in business. Not when he has always been the primary supporter of her professional life.

So, in some attempt to compromise, Caroline decides to force her muse back. And what better way to do that than photographing the sunrise from her favorite spot in the city?

As a little girl, Caroline loved nothing more than sunrises. She would watch the sky turning into all shades of orange and red from the window of her room with fascination. Something about the light slowly emerging to envelope the darkness, to swallow it whole, made the sunrise so beautiful to her. This love never diminished throughout her life. And while sunsets are just as beautiful, nothing can ever compare to the early hours of dawn in Caroline's mind.

Even though it's still bitterly cold during the morning, and the ice is still not yet completely melted, she insists on watching the scenery from the spot in the park that is her favorite. Much to Caroline's delight, the park is located right around the corner from the building of her apartment. It's a beautiful piece of land, spacious and complete with a particularly scenic fountain. But most importantly to Caroline, is the small lake that it's connected to. The first time she saw the sunrise from that spot, her breath hitched in her throat, catching her in a haze. The colors reflecting themselves on the water made it seem as though the sun was emerging from the lake and being swallowed by it at the same time.

Until this day, Caroline does not think that anything can be as beautiful.

Except when Caroline arrives there, her camera ready and her spirits high, the spot is already occupied. A man, so deep in thought that he does not even seem to flinch at the sound of her footsteps, stands there unmoving. He stares onward, sparing no glances to his surroundings. Her first thought is frustration at her bad luck. Of all the days this man can meditate, he chooses to interrupt her inspiration. Her second thought is that he has a rather attractive behind.

Shaking that particular musing, that causes her to tilt her head a little for a more focused view of him, she goes about setting her camera for the upcoming task. Soon enough, she realizes, he will hear the click of the camera's button, and the shutter that is ought to accompany her pictures and move away from the spot. After all, no one is fond of having their pictures' taken by utter strangers.

The first streak of redness starts to emerge from the horizon, bathing the clear water of the lake with a pinkish glow. No matter how many times she watches it, she will forever be mesmerized by the scene. Shifting a little until she is standing but mere strides away from the stranger to get the perfect shot, Caroline raises her camera to snap the first picture. This, she ponders, this is something that will forever hold her interest. This sunrise will always be magical.

But nothing has ever prepared her for the magic that she sees through the lenses.

Nothing is ever missing from these beautiful colors or their reflection upon the water. Dancing across the smooth surface they emanate a thousand glowing hue. The sky's dark blue shades slowly retreat, surrendering themselves to the orange rays and the bright yellows filling up the void they have left the day before. A few lingering bight stars would twinkle still, and nothing can be as breathtaking as the world settles into this hybrid state; nervously hopeful.

All along, though, all along, something was missing: this perfect stranger's silhouette.

Through the lenses, Caroline experiences that rush she's been craving for over a year now. A surge of complete and utter awe betraying her wit into frozen amazement. She allows it to waste two precious minutes of her work, then manages to control it. Stepping even farther away from the man, she prays that she can at least snap one picture of him with the sunset without him noticing. She has no time to feel guilty about such a thought, consoling her conscience with the knowledge that she will not publish this, it will be for her eyes only, a moment of weakness where she wants to capture this beauty forever.

She presses the button and the shutter sound of the camera is a bang in the deathly silence of dawn. He doesn't move an inch. He doesn't even flinch. Looking down on her camera, she checks to see whether the picture snapping is a phantom of her imagination. Surely enough, however, she sees the picture with his contemplative and somewhat rigid silhouette, accompanying the sun rays.

So she smiles to herself, thanks the Gods for her luck at having him so damn indulgent in his own mind for her presence to go unnoted. And she snaps another picture, then another, then another, catching the scene from all possible angles without entering the man's peripheral vision. By the end of her mini photo-shoot session with this perfect stranger, Caroline begins to fear that he is frozen into this spot by the cold. Abruptly, however, as she flips through her pictures, he turns around. Only then does she note that the sun is completely visible and the last traces of the colorful sky is fading into its infinite blueness.

At his movement, her eyes snap up to his face. It is set into an expression of pure surprise, as though he has not the slightest notion of her lingering presence behind him the entire time. And she is sure that she is as stunned as he is, but for reasons that are quite different from his. Caroline has never seen someone as handsome as the man standing before her that minute. Stormy blue eyes, plump lips, golden curls, the hint of a stubble make a fatal combination. Never has Caroline wanted so badly to lift her camera into its ready position before her face, where it belongs, to snap a few more pictures of this handsome stranger as much as she wants to this moment.

It is him who makes the smallest moves towards her, regarding her with the curious look that is morphed from his shocked one. A flock of butterflies bursts in her stomach at the idea of talking to him. Feeling utterly ridiculous, Caroline clears her throat, straightens her posture, and reminds herself that she is an adult not a fifteen years old high school student.

"Good morning" she says with her friendliest tone, offering a warm smile. If things go her way they would soon be sipping coffee in the small cafe across the street.

Her plans are shot down.

Instead of the seemingly reproachful movement of his body, he halts. Almost flinching, he tears his eyes away from her face. Gluing his sight to the ground beneath him, he deprives her of the sight of his eyes. She cannot help the feeling of disappointment, mixed with an overwhelming sadness from rising in her chest. Hurriedly, he turns away, eyes still staring towards the ground, and practically flees for his life. The last glimpse she manages to catch of him is his melancholic profile.

Two warring emotions take over her mind. She wants to soothe him. She wants to photograph him.

* * *

Caroline is not a stalker. Never in her life has she imagined that such word can be used to describe her. She never intended for it to become that way. She never wanted to end up sneaking pictures and blushing to herself as she flipped through them later. And most importantly, She never fancied that she would lay eyes on that handsome stranger again.

It took days for her initial disappointment over his hurried departure to subside. But even then she could not find anything remotely as satisfying as stealing those fleeting pictures that one particular dawn. It seemed that whatever her camera caught paled in comparison to those pictures. And after numerous sighs, with the end of winter giving way to spring, Caroline was ready to give into the fact that what happened was a onetime thing, and she would have to settle for what she now knows is one step short of magic.

That day she saw him again.

The weather finally warms enough for long walks. The grass begins to regain its lush color. The sky is crystal clear, and the sun beams down at Caroline as she strolls through the park with a smile. After months of confinement within walls and having to dress in layers that made her feel like a polar bear rather than a human being, the fresh air and warm breeze were more than welcomed. The park is filled up with people like it hasn't been in months. Most of the crowd at this point of the day are children with their mothers, enjoying the freedom of roaming around the spacious place. That does not stop self-employed workers like Caroline or even businessmen in their stuffy suits from spending a long lunch hour soaking the sun. A hundred faces surround Caroline and not even in a million years would she have anticipated seeing the one she yearned to see most.

Then she catches a glimpse of him. It must be a hallucination, she first thinks, worrying her lower lip for two seconds with what that would entail about her insanity. Yet when she looks over to where her eyes have fallen, he is indeed there. She thinks about going over to the bench where he is sitting and saying hello, but that idea is quickly shot down when she remembers his reaction to a conversation the last time. Instead, she stands frozen in place, people bumping into her left and right, and observes him.

He is even more handsome than her memory offers. Unlike the first time he looks relaxed. There's no coat that would hurdle his movements rather a black Henley that wraps so wonderfully around his torso, showing off his lean figure. Yet all of that does not intrigue Caroline as much as what seems to occupy him. He looks like he's writing. There's a notepad propped against his lap and a pencil in his hand. He seems thoroughly absorbed and content with his activity, showing almost no signs of awareness of the world around him. The sight of him provokes a smile from her lips, and she wonders how she can be the only person noticing him in that moment.

As she watches him for a while longer, her curiosity gets the best of her. Never wanting to miss a beautiful shot, her camera always hangs from her neck, ready to be used whenever she sees fit. With the intention of simply inspecting what exactly he's working on, Caroline lifts up her camera. Through the lenses, and the magic that is the zoom button, she sees the graceful movement of his fingers across the paper, immediately realizing that he is sketching. She does not plan on taking another picture of him, but she cannot help herself when the perfect moment presents itself. The picture is simply of his hand resting upon the paper. It causes Caroline to cringe with the implications of that.

 _His hand? Really, Caroline? Really?_

Her scolds go to waste, though, when he smiles the tiniest bit with a tender spark in his eyes down at whatever sketch he's conjured up, and her camera is quick to immortalize the moment.

And it becomes like an addiction to her.

From that day onward, she does not waste an opportunity to snap pictures of him. After frequenting the park around the same time as that day, Caroline realizes that he makes it a habit to spend most of his day in that park sketching. He chooses a different spot each time, making it difficult for Caroline to find him, but she deduces that by the fountain, near the lake is his favorite spot as much as it is hers.

She snaps so many pictures of him in so many different poses, with so many different expressions that she can possibly wallpaper her entire apartment with just shots of him. And the more she observes him, the more pictures she takes of him, the more addicted she becomes to him.

She starts noticing patterns after a while, recognizing the things that make him smile, and the things that bring this look of sadness into his eyes. The first time she sees him smile, a real, genuine smile is the day the flowers seem to fully bloom. Colorful bursts of all kinds spreads throughout the park, bringing a smile to Caroline's face that widens when she sees his. He stands contemplating a white blossom with a smile of awe stretched across his face. His hand delicately brushes the petals as though afraid that it would break under his stroke. The next day, Caroline finds him standing in front of a canvas, his strokes precise, his look intent. She watches him painting the colorful flowers, thinking that no painting can ever be this beautiful.

Caroline's camera catches no rest during those two days. And she can honestly say that these photos were her best work.

It is rivaled by another session, though.

A piano appears by the fountain in the park, causing Caroline to thank whoever got the idea to place it there. At one particular day, as the handsome, lonely artist lounges in one of the benches near said piano, someone decides to play some tunes. The young brunette pianist strokes the keys with delicate fingers, and before long an audience gathers around her. Even though she plays happy and hopeful notes, Caroline's artist sits with the saddest expression she has seen across his face. She pays no mind to her surroundings, his sorrow stealing her attention. There's a certain yearn in his eyes. It causes her throat to close in, threatening to overwhelm her with the despair she sees in the blue orbs. When the pianist stops her melodic chants, as the crowds dissipate, he advances towards the instrument. He drags his fingers across the keys with no precision, his face ceasing all expression before a hopeless sigh escapes his mouth. Much like the first time Caroline saw him, he turns on his heels, leaving her and the piano behind.

The picture she takes of his somber expression haunts her for days.

* * *

"Why do you have so many pictures of his hand?" Katherine asks, tilting her head as she flits through the recent batch that Caroline has set on organizing.

"Because" Caroline stalls, looking at her roommate and best friend "they're so beautiful and graceful. Especially when he's painting or sketching."

"So you imagine them touching and stroking you in the most sinful ways?" Katherine asks casually.

"Do you really have to make everything dirty?" Caroline rolls her eyes at the smirking brunette.

"Of course" the latter snickers, as if it's offending for Caroline to think otherwise.

Huffing exasperatedly, Caroline snatches the picture dangling from Katherine's fingers to put it in its designated place.

"His hands aren't my favorite thing about him though" Caroline mumbles, more to herself than to her curious friend.

"Then what is?"

Just by the tone of her inquiry, Caroline knows she should not answer. Mockery is all she'll ever get from Katherine Pierce. Ever since the blonde started on this little adventure of hers, Katherine has seized every opportunity for sarcasm. Still, as she holds a picture that particularly focuses on his eyes to place it in the binder, Caroline can't keep her tongue from moving.

"His eyes" she starts breathlessly "They're so beautiful and sad. There's nothing like them when they sparkle, or betray that look of sadness. They're so blue and so deep I think that if I look into them long enough, I can drown in their depth"

"I'm sorry" Katherine interrupts the moment too long of silence "Do you want some alone time with the picture?"

Caroline can't hide her blush. She doesn't venture a look at her friend who will most certainly be smirking.

"My point is" Caroline clears her throat "It's not about dirty thoughts. Muses don't work that way. It's about how beautiful he looks in pictures. And this is something that _you_ will never understand".

With that Caroline stands up from the sofa, shuffling towards the door where she hangs her camera around her neck, ready to leave the apartment for her happy place.

"You're going to see him, aren't you?" Katherine says with the smirk still evident in her voice.

"Yes. I'm also trying to avoid you and your sarcasm" Caroline bites back.

"Oh Care, don't be like that" Katherine sighs, standing up herself to come closer to her friend "you know I'm just looking out for you. You've been on this mantra for almost two months now. It can't be healthy."

"Why?" Caroline huffs petulantly, stomping her feet against the floor like a toddler who's not getting her way "What's so bad about having this muse? You don't understand, it feels like I'm creating magic."

"I know" Katherine assures her, placing a hand on her shoulder "and it shows. Trust me, it does. This is my favorite collection of yours so far. And you know how much I love your work. But Caroline you're obsessed!"

"I'm so not!" Caroline objects, appalled by the accusation.

Arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her, Katherine crosses her arms over her chest defiantly "All you talk about is him, even though you know nothing about this guy. You spend at least two hours a day lurking around him to snap pictures of him, without his knowledge, might I add-"

"But-"

"When you get home, you go into that creepy red room of yours and extract said pictures from your camera. Then you flit through them and organize them into binders or albums or whatever the hell you feel like. And when I talk to you, you zone out. And I _know_ you're thinking about him because you get that dreamy look in your eyes! It's getting out of hands, Caroline, you need to either stop following him around, or talk to him or get him to agree to get his pictures published so you can get him out of your system"

Caroline sighs, frustrated "You don't understand, Katherine, there's something about him. I can't really explain it but there's this pull. I don't understand what it is or why him, but it's there and I can't ignore it, not when every fiber of my being is telling me that this is right. That it's exactly what I should be doing."

Katherine licks her lips anxiously. This isn't the first time Caroline has used this type of explanation to her weird phase. If it isn't for Katherine's nearly infinite faith in Caroline's gut feeling, in Caroline's heart and its true calling, she would have thought that her friend is going crazy.

"OK" Katherine relents "Just promise me that you will be careful. I'm not looking out for him here, Care, I'm looking out for you."

"I know, Kat, I know" the blonde smiles "You always are, and I love you for it, but you have to trust me on this one".

Exchanging a quick hug and goodbye, Caroline skips out of her building and towards the park. She doesn't get to stay for long though, for an urgent, and slightly irritated Elijah interrupts her, demanding that she meet him instantly.

For the past two months, she has been doing nothing but give vague explanation about what she has been up to recently. So far, he's been patient, waiting for her to explain herself rather than hammering her with questions. His patience has ran out. clearly.

She steps into his office to hear him agitatedly speaking through his phone. Caroline has never seen Elijah so unnerved, he is always calm that the sight of him so anxious immediately worries her.

"No" Elijah snaps "He has to be there"

A beat of silence in which Elijah looks increasingly frustrated passes before he talks almost angrily again "Tell him he has to be there. He cannot argue his way out of this."

Caroline can hear the other person urgently talking with Elijah before the latter shuts his eyes, huffing "Listen, I can't argue with him through the phone over this. Tell him to come to my office so we can have a proper conversation. Tell him I need to fully understand what he's trying to say and I can't do this over the phone"

Elijah shuts the other voice midsentence firmly "Well, excuse me, Kol, but you're not the most reliable person when it comes to communicating with him. I need to see him. I expect him to be here within ten minutes"

Hanging up the phone, Elijah flops down onto the posh chair at his desk. He starts rubbing his temples, looking utterly exhausted.

"I'm sorry I barged in like that. But Tina said you were available" Caroline starts uncomfortably, startling Elijah who looks like he hasn't even noticed her standing there. She never truly bothers with formalities when it comes to Elijah. Although he never crosses the line of professionalism, they are familiar enough with each other that she walks into his office without knocking and calls him by his first name.

"It's OK, Caroline" he waves a hand to dismiss the matter "You've heard worse" he adds with a chuckle.

"True" she answers with a laugh of her own "What was that all about?" she inquires, sitting across from him on the black leather chair.

"It's the new artist" Elijah answers, looking slightly distressed "We're hosting his very first show. The opening is within the next a few days, everything was going according to plan until he found out that he has to be here and socialize with possible clients. He's been panicking ever since."

"Is he one of those recluse artists?" Caroline frowns, feeling sorry for Elijah.

"Not particularly." Elijah says vaguely "He has a certain … problem that makes him a little frightened by the concept of socializing."

"He's deaf" Elijah quietly says upon her confused expression.

"Oh" is all she manages to mouth.

"He's an exceptionally talented artist, though. I'm willing to let him off the hook if I have to" Elijah smiles at her warmly "After all, I've dealt with worst artists who had no reason whatsoever to make my life difficult by blowing off my calls and dodging my questions."

"I'm sorry, Elijah" Caroline stutters through a bright blush "I-"

"I wasn't talking about you" he shrugs innocently "I'm sure you have a legitimate reason over your disappearance." he leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk and regarding her with warm brown eyes "So tell me, Caroline. Is there a reason for your vagueness? Are you working on a new collection or must I tell clients that you will not be hosting a new show for another year?"

"I…" she starts hesitantly, licking her upper lip "I'm not sure"

"What do you mean?" Elijah tilts his head to the side with a frown of his own.

Caroline bites her lower lip, nervously twisting her fingers together where they lay in her lap. For a few moments, she watches her hands, avoiding Elijah's intent gaze. Controlling her blush seems hopeless. How does she explain this to Elijah without sounding like a stalker, or worse, like a teenager with a crush?

"There's this… person" she begins uncertainly, still not meeting his eyes "He's been my muse for the past two months"

"I don't see where the problem is" she looks up at Elijah to see him blinking confusedly "You've had subjects before."

"This time is different" she admits with a sigh "he doesn't exactly know that I'm taking pictures of him."

Elijah's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline "That's not something I thought I would hear you say."

Caroline's cheeks burn even hotter at the slight amusement in his tone "Me neither, but I couldn't help myself."

"I trust your judgment" he shrugs, but a smile stays plastered across his face all the same "Would you mind if I take a look at some of those pictures, Caroline? If you have some of them on you at the moment"

"I do" Caroline says uncertainly "… just don't get too attached" she jokes "He might not agree to have them published."

"I'm sure you can persuade him with your charms" he chuckles.

With shaking hands, she extracts the binder that is filled with his pictures from her bag. Upon Elijah's phone call, Caroline has quickly gone back to her apartment to pick up a few pictures in case he asks to see them.

She watches nervously as Elijah opens up the binder. He looks utterly stunned for a few moments, staring down at the pictures with his mouth almost hanging opened. She's about to say something, wanting to provoke any kind of reaction from him when he begins flipping through the endless collection. The shock gradually disappears to be replaced by an awed expression. She hears his breath catch in his throat, and when he looks up at her, she can swear his eyes are glossed over with emotions.

"What is it?" Caroline asks nervously when his silence prevails for too long.

Then he smiles "I think I can help with getting his agreement for publishing."

"What do you mean?" she frowns.

Whatever Elijah wants to say is interrupted by a knock on the door. Tina's head pops from the door,

"Mr. Mikaelson, Niklaus is here."

"Perfect timing, let him in."

Caroline imitates Elijah as he rises from his seat. There's a beaming smile stretching across his face, an almost secretive one as though he's in on a joke that no one else knows. He rounds the desk just in time as the door opens, prompting Caroline to turn around. Only to be met by the sight of her handsome artist standing in the doorway with an unnerved expression splattered across his features.

Her breathing ceases.

"Caroline" she is distantly aware of Elijah talking to her "I trust you know Niklaus. He's the new artist who also happens to be my brother."

There, standing with a slacked jaw, facing his own surprised and slightly confused expression, Caroline is entranced by his blue eyes.

It takes her no time at all to drown into their bottomless depth.

* * *

 **Next chapter to be posted soon and it's gonna be a monster in its length!**

 **love you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I know I said this chapter will be up tomorrow but obviously another day on this is not necessary! Enjoy lovelies :D**

* * *

The pale glow of the early morning dances around his face. The last strands of the red rays frame his soft features with a lazy haze. It takes her breath away, plunging her once more into the blue pools of his eyes. Today, they strangely match the sky. Their clarity and softness inspiring a tranquility unlike any she's ever seen painted across his face before. There is a languid smile, almost too laid back to belong to him gracing the full curve of his lips. His defined cheekbones uplifted in a manner too content to be tangible. And those same blue orbs that would leave her to drown are smiling most effortlessly, too. His expression unchanged, he reaches into his pocket, takes out his cell phone and briefly types into it. Hers whines next to her, as if as disturbed by awakening from the moment as she is. It is a message from him.

 _Yes_. It says.

* * *

He is confused. Then he is angry. Then frustrated. Then resigned.

Caroline, through the thrilling and dramatic saga of watching her muse who happens to be her boss's brother no less, sits slack-jawed in the comfortable leather chair next to Elijah's desk. Her mind has completely stopped working around the time her arti- _Niklaus_ walked into the room and never quite managed to collect its wits yet. She is stuck between utter awe at seeing him out of the usual circumstance and complete shock at how _close_ they have been without her even realizing it.

The silently heated argument between the two brothers is incomprehensible to Caroline. Sign language has never been something she thought of learning, although she suspects that even if they are talking a language she understands, the entire conversation would go completely unnoticed by her. Instead, she is captured by the movement of his hands and his elegant fingers. Even in this moment, as his gestures appear to be frustrated, there is something so utterly mesmerizing about them. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she attempts to focus on anything else, and this time she is caught in his frown wearing face. She has seen him somber, thoughtful, content, peaceful and even sad but she's never seen him angry or frustrated before. It is not as unpleasant as she has thought it might be. There is something rather…. Intriguing about this uncontained state he is in.

 _Oh if only Kathrine can get into my head right now. I would never hear the end of it._

She doesn't know how long it takes the brothers to resolve their conflict. Between her shock and the trance Niklaus has lured her into, she has completely lost sense of time. Whatever the case may be, the argument ended with clearly a lost battle for Niklaus. He looks upset still, but more so in a despondent way. Elijah's voice is the one that finally alerts her to her surroundings once more.

"So Niklaus" he continues to talk to his brother with sign language, this time speaking out loud as well, intending to include Caroline in the conversation "Caroline is one of our best artists. She's a photographer and her shows are always a booming success".

"You flatter me too much, Elijah" Caroline mutters shyly, a nervous smile curving her lips as she rises to her feet. The last thing she needs is having either of them staring down at her.

"You've always been very humble, Miss Forbes" Elijah answers with a wide smile of his own. He looks gleeful, as if finding amusement in her obvious nervousness "We were talking about Niklaus right before he walked in" he gestures towards his brother as a way of introduction. After all, the first attempt at introducing them to each other was abruptly cut short when Niklaus began a conversation with Elijah after two long moments of staring at Caroline.

"Hi" she gives him an awkward wave, which he answers with an absent smile. He seems far more interested in staring at her intently than anything else. And she doesn't really know how to react under his scrutinizing gaze. She feels a blush rising to her cheeks as she attempts to avoid his eyes. So easy it would be for those blue pools to suck her into them once more, and the feeling, no matter how exhilarating, is foreign and downright frightening.

Elijah lightly touches Niklaus' shoulder to get his attention before speaking "Miss Forbes and I were just talking about your upcoming show. She said she would like to attend it" She can swear that Elijah is wearing the most devious smirks of all.

She merely smiles, her eyes twitching at the prospect of her boss putting her on the spot.

Niklaus addresses that with another smile, except it's a more genuine one this time before returning his attention to Elijah.

"I think it would be nice to have a somewhat familiar and comforting face around, don't you think Niklaus?" Elijah asks casually.

He chuckles at Niklaus' response.

"What?" Caroline asks, confused.

"He said it would be nice to have such a beautiful face around indeed" Elijah answers, a grin unlike any other splitting his face. In response, however, Niklaus slaps his shoulder, irritated and slightly embarrassed. Caroline can see a blush creeping up onto his cheeks to match her own. Unconsciously, she tucks a loose strand behind her ear, a shy smile still stretched across her face. He tilts his head to the side, clearly taking his time to study her in spite of his embarrassment. But his gaze is far too incessant and heated on her that she cannot bear it for too long.

She clears her throat, looking back at a smiling Elijah "Elijah can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course" he shrugs, stepping away from his brother. "Is there a problem?" he frowns when they're a few steps away from Niklaus.

"Yes!" she squeaks out, her nerves finally spiking "What do you think you're doing?"

"Pardon me, Caroline, but I do not seem to follow" he asks, tilting his head in a manner that is a little too similar to Niklaus' gaze earlier.

"Are you trying to embarrass me, Elijah?" she huffs, trying to control the high pitched squeaks that were threatening to emerge "Why did you tell him I'm coming to his show?"

"Because you are" Elijah shrugs.

"No, I'm not! I never agreed to that!"

"Miss Forbes," Elijah starts calmly "You have been following my brother around for God knows how long now. By your own admission he's your muse. Does it seem awfully unlikely for you to want to spend a little time with him?"

"I guess not" she answers slowly "But, Elijah, this is too embarrassing I can't do it!"

He smiles genuinely at her "Of course you can. You need to publish those pictures as it is and to do so you need his consent. Perhaps acquainting yourself with him for a little bit would help in the matter. After all, I don't think he would take too kindly to the idea, nor would it be easy for you to show him the pictures immediately."

"But I don't think I'm comfortable with not immediately telling him about my project" Caroline explains thoughtfully.

"And that's why I suggest you arrange a time and place for the both of you to discuss the issue during his show" Elijah offers.

It sounds reasonable. Even though she is baffled, nervous, and somewhat still embarrassed at the prospect of looking at him directly, Caroline cannot resist the temptation of seeing his work up close. Nor can she deny the logic behind Elijah's proposal.

"OK" she breathes.

Caroline spends the rest of her day in a daze. She talks to Katherine about the incident with clouds hazing her vision. Her eyes are fixed on her favorite TV show but her mind is dizzy with thoughts that drive her the farthest place away from the world. And that night, when she finally falls asleep, she dreams of endless blue skies, of infinite blue oceans, and the eternal depths of his stormy blue eyes.

* * *

"Relax" Katherine rolls her eyes for what seems like the umpteenth time "You look fine"

"I don't care how I look" Caroline blurts out "why would you think I do?"

"Terrible liar as always" Katherine mutters, with a shake of her head "You're Caroline Forbes, you _always_ care for how you look. And tonight, you've been acting like a chipmunk who's had too much coffee. You changed your dress four times, tried out three different hairstyles, and wore your sexy heels. Even now you can't stop smoothing down your skirt or looking at that small mirror. So don't you dare lie to me, blondie" the brunette narrows her eyes.

"OK fine" Caroline relents with a sigh "I've been a little nervous today, but I just want to make a good impression".

"Yes. A good enough impression to maybe get laid" Katherine says slyly.

It is Caroline's turn to roll her eyes "It's not like that and you know it"

"Yes, I do. But I don't know what it is like or what's going on with you." Katherine explains, taking on a serious tone for a moment "And, honestly, I think you have no idea what's going on with you either. So, for now, I will be entertaining myself with inappropriate comments. Maybe I can even make him uncomfortable"

Caroline has to physically stop herself from groaning out loud, and is thankfully saved by the taxi finally pulling up by the entrance of Elijah's grand gallery. As usual, the place is elegantly decorated. The warm lights by the heavy glass doors continue on into the gallery, soft and inviting, somewhat of a contrast to the stuffy suits and heavy diamonds walking around the place. It is not an affair that Caroline enjoys, she hardly enjoys her own exhibits. But she supposes it is worth it if she gets to spend time with her muse.

It's not the kind of affair that Katherine would enjoy either. Nonetheless, per Caroline's request, she's agreed with the promise of free alcohol and the possibility of shagging "Caroline's panties-wetting hot boss". Caroline shudders at the thought.

"I'm heading to the bar" Katherine announces as soon as they set foot inside the gallery. She doesn't even wait for an answer from Caroline, sauntering confidently with her heels clicking enticingly against the marble floor.

"Try not to get so drunk that I'd have to drag you back home" Caroline calls after the brunette in vain.

She shakes off the idea, opting to ignore her friend for the remainder of the evening. Honestly, her sanity often depends on tuning out Katherine. She loves the brunette ball of fierceness but sometimes she is quite the handful. And Caroline has no time to indulge her tonight. Between her raging nerves, the knots in her stomach, and her fearful anticipation of her upcoming meeting with Niklaus, Caroline has no time to think of what Katherine might do.

Leaving Katherine behind, Caroline ventures further into the gallery. Elijah's tasteful, yet overtly and blatantly expensive decorations are not what she is looking at. Instead her eyes wander over the walls of the building, quickly taking in the several paintings hung in an order that she cannot seem to find a specific pattern to. She doesn't stop at any particular painting. They are all beautiful. All sad. Most of them are rather dark, but none of them particularly compel her to stop.

Towards the center, the largest one is placed. A tremendous canvas that takes up the wall almost from floor to ceiling stands, causing quite the commotion. It's an abstract piece, Caroline gathers. Several colors, mostly consisting of shades of black with the occasional bright contrast of red are splattered across the canvas. For the life of her, Caroline cannot tell what the painting is. The longer she stares at it, the more confused she is over what she is supposed to be looking at. After a moment or two, the bright spots of red disturb her eyesight, forcing her to give up and move on.

The next one truly startles her into pausing. Unlike the centerpiece, the canvas is rather small, one of the smallest in the collection. But it draws her attention all the same, more so than the larger ones. Through a single glance, a wave of unexplainable melancholy assaults her. From the distance of a few feet, she cannot see any particular features. She does not particularly concern herself with the subject matter, either. What truly draws her to it, what radiates that sense of sadness, are the colors. It's almost entirely grey. Grey like a cloudy day, one that does not allow a single beam of sunlight to penetrate its haze. The kind of day that makes her miss the night with all its darkness. At least the night is not so painfully neutral. Even in its cruelest, swallowing blackness, it takes a stand. But the grey day… the grey day is crushing in its apathy. It dangles hope endlessly, never following through its promise, but never quite withdrawing it either. The grey day is perfectly reflected through the color palettes of Niklaus' small canvas. She feels the same helpless despair that accompanies her mornings on cloudy days. As she steps closer to it, her sentiments are only heightened. There's hardly anything else to see in the picture. It is consisted of only the neutrality of the grey hues. And it is only when Caroline steps painfully closer to it, that she sees a mere shadow at the center. It's painted in a slightly darker shade than the rest of the canvas. It has no features. The outline of its body looks as undefinable and unclear as the color grey. Where does it end, where does it begin, Caroline cannot tell. The only thing she can fathom is the undeniable somberness emitted from its frail, one-dimensional body. And the absolute entrancing frenzy it sends her into.

She does not know for how long her eyes stay glued to this painting. She does not understand how she can be the only one drawn to it, how people pass it by without a second thought. She does not understand how it can be so powerful that it can well up tears in her eyes without her permission.

"Miss Forbes!" It is Elijah's enthusiastic greeting that finally shakes her out of her reverie. She turns to her right, watching him advancing with Niklaus trailing behind him "I was beginning to wonder if you'd show up"

"I promised you I would, Elijah" she answers with a small smile. Elijah places a peck on her cheek in greeting once he finally plants himself in front of her "You know I don't break my promises to you" she adds teasingly.

"Indeed" he retorts with a smile of his own.

At that, she turns to Niklaus with an awkward wave and a whispered "Hi".

He looks in pain.

His distraught state a few days before at Elijah's office does not even compare to the panicked look in his eyes. He looks like a deer caught in a headlight. Even with his effort at a greeting smile, he looks utterly disheveled. His hair looks slightly rumpled, his tie is a little crooked, the suit he's wearing looks a tad too baggy to be his size, and he seems so out of place Caroline gets the inexplicable urge to drag him out of the gallery as soon as possible. She can see the stiffness of his shoulders through the ridiculously unflattering suit jacket he's wearing. His hands are clearly shaking. His eyes are roaming about, as if waiting for a disaster to happen, as if waiting for his hunter to jump out of thin air and cease him. He is a mess.

For a moment, Caroline considers reprimanding Elijah for putting him through this. She is well aware of Elijah's delicate position. The image of the artist can contribute greatly to the success of a show, but Niklaus' state cannot be helping. At all. It is abundantly clear that not only is he uncomfortable, but also is in physical pain over having to be in the gallery. His nervousness only manages to agitate her further, too. And his response to her greeting through a forced smile only manages to make things worse.

"Have you been enjoying the exhibit, Caroline?" Elijah seems to either be completely oblivious to Niklaus' discomfort, or simply ignoring the matter as he asks her casually. It's almost a crime how polished he looks in his black suit next to his brother's less than pleasing state.

"Yes, Elijah, it's wonderful" she answers him politely, before turning her attention to Niklaus. His eyes are now focused on her. However, unlike a few days before when his gaze was curious, this time his stare is blank. She wants to compliment him and is about to do so when she remembers his situation. Should she tell Elijah to translate? Can he read lips? Is her hesitance offending to him?

"He can read lips" Elijah interjects, sensing her conflict. The chuckle from Niklaus following Elijah's sentence adds to her embarrassment but is oddly comforting when she notes the nonchalance on his face "Just don't mumble" Elijah adds.

"OK" Caroline lets out a nervous laughter before focusing back on Niklaus who looks somewhat less unnerved than he did a moment before "Your paintings are beautiful."

It sounds lame. She knows it. And the moment the sentence leaves her mouth, she wants to take it back. She means it, of course, but the compliment is so general and clichéd that it makes her cringe. It's the kind of compliment she often receives on her own work and never manages to motivate, upset, or truly please her. In Caroline's defense, though, she is still truly nervous. And despite his disheveled state, Niklaus still looks very handsome. Something about his uncontained state gives her the urge to pick up her camera and take yet another picture of him, much like his frustration in Elijah's office a few days before made him look so pleasing to her eyes. Not that she would allow her mind to wander into such places once more.

He gives her a polite smile in answer to her compliment, then reaches into his jacket pocket, taking out a pen and a small notepad that he briefly scribbles something across.

"Thank you" it reads as he holds it up for her, his smile widening in response to hers.

"Well," Elijah starts, the gleam Caroline saw in his eyes that day in his office back "I will leave the two of you together to get acquainted and go talk to a few clients"

As he leaves, Elijah presses a hand to Niklaus' shoulder firmly. Though brief, the gesture does not go unnoticed by Caroline. And just like that, all of her irritation at Elijah's insistence for forcing Niklaus into this vanishes.

An awkward silence follows Elijah's departure. Caroline glues her eyes to the floor, or the walls or passing figures or anything that is not Niklaus for the most part. Yet she feels his eyes following her every movement. They burn into her skin and after a minute of complete silence, she cannot help but blurt out the first thing that comes to her mind.

"I did mean it, you know" Caroline starts politely, having to remind herself that the focus of his stare on her lips is purely for practical purposes "Your paintings are beautiful. You're a very talented artist".

He holds up the "thank you" paper once more, another smile splitting across his face. Then he goes back to scribbling on the notepad.

"Do you have a favorite?" his clumsy handwriting reads "Painting, I mean"

"Yes" she nods before pointing to the one behind her "I think this one is my favorite"

His eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

"Not the center piece?" he writes.

"No" Caroline shakes her head "I don't understand what the center piece is about, to be honest. But this one…" she points to the painting behind her, inhaling deeply "this one is breathtaking"

He raises his eyebrows in wonder, his eyes questioning.

"Why do you say that?" he at last writes after a moment too long of silence.

"It's so sad" she says thoughtfully "It's so… tragically lonely"

She cannot read his expression. Upon her words, his face takes on a stoic one, a mask that communicates nothing to her. And even that disappears quickly for he shoots her a brief, weak smile, returning to his notepad. She gets the sinking feeling that he is hiding from her

 _How convenient…_ Caroline does not know what upsets her more, his attempt to hide or her clear annoyance at the fact. Yet she brushes off both when he looks back up at her with mirth dancing in his eyes. As if the earlier moment did not even happen, he acts.

"Can I let you in on a little secret?" the paper reads this time.

"Yes" Caroline answers, her curiosity peaking. She feels her own lips curving in response to his infectious grin.

"It doesn't mean anything" he says.

"What do you mean?" Caroline frowns.

Her confusion does not seem to discourage his obvious amusement at the situation, for he goes back to writing down whatever he intends to say to her just as enthusiastically.

"The center piece. It doesn't mean anything. I didn't want to say anything. I didn't feel anything. All I did was splatter some paint across the canvas as a joke to myself. All those pretentious so-called art experts will pretend it's the most profound and beautiful."

He is beaming at her. The sight stopping her heart, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She wonders in that moment if he realizes just how striking, how beautiful his smile is. She wonders if he knows how infectious it is.

"You wanna bet this will be sold with the highest price" she says, thankful for the fact that he cannot hear the tremor in her voice.

"I'm sure of it" he writes to her.

The mirth gradually subsides from his blue eyes, replaced by an intent look. His lips are still slightly curved as he takes a moment too long to gaze at her, but he seems hesitant as he turns back to his notepad. She watched his movements closely. His hand scribbles something then abruptly stops only to rewind the process several times over. He gives up at last, turning the page towards a blank one and hurriedly writing across it.

"You're very talented, too" at last comes his simple confession.

"You don't know that" Caroline laughs. Her heart sinks. She is reminded of the embarrassing secret that is the reason for her presence tonight. His reaction seems all the more important now. Perhaps it is the fact that they have already exchanged a few words, or the fact that she feels she just witnessed part of his soul through his bleak painting, or simply the fact that she feels an unexplainable connection, an absurd feeling of familiarity and intimacy between them already that tug at her. A sense of dread sneaks up on her at the idea of his disapproval.

"I do, Caroline" he writes, and she wishes she can hear her name rolling off his tongue "I looked you up" He seems almost embarrassed as he confesses the last part.

"Oh wow" she chuckles, hating the tremble of her voice. She does not want to think of what it might mean that he is interested enough to actually google her.

"I think half the world agrees if the reviews I've read about you are anything to go by. The other half has not discovered you, yet, unfortunately for them" he tells her, offering a smile once more.

"Thank you" she answers, smiling back at him.

"Maybe you have a show soon that I can attend?" he asks, arching an eyebrow at her.

Her heart thrums faster against her chest. This is her chance. She has to bring it up.

"That depends…" she hesitates, swallowing.

"On what?" he inquires, curiosity coloring his features.

"On the feedback I get for my new collection" she explains, her voice trembling still "I'm not sure if it's good enough" she lies.

At that, he chuckles, turning to write on his notepad "I'm positive it's sensational"

"Would you…" she swallows "would you like to see it?"

He blinks, taken aback by her offer.

"You know," she adds slowly "you can see it and let me know what you think"

His face splits into a wide grin "I would be honored" he says.

Caroline does not know whether his delight pleases her or scares her even more. The entire situation seems like a disaster waiting to happen to her anxious mind. She can already see his face utterly disgusted, his features hardened, and his eyes cold as he realizes what she has been up to. And no matter how much she tried to calm her unsteady heartbeats, to convince her exaggerating mind that she is being a tad too melodramatic, she can't seem to shake off the image.

"Do you have a cellphone number?" she asks, already taking hers out. His answer is a meaningful look "What? You've never heard of texting?" she teases him causing his face to light up at the idea.

"Here" she grabs his notepad and the pen from him, writing down her cellphone number and her name "Text me as soon as you buy a phone and we can arrange for us to meet"

He nods, another smile curving his perfect lips.

"You should text me when you're trying to attend one of these shows again, too," she says frankly "you really need someone who can properly dress you"

He looks down at his disastrous attire, scratching the back of his head embarrassedly. Caroline can swear a blush tints his cheeks as he writes down his question "Is it really that bad?"

"Not really" she shrugs "Nothing that can't be fixed"

If asked what possessed her to make her next move later, for the life of her she will not know how to answer. All she knows is that it feels perfectly natural for her to step forward, invading his personal space. It feels very natural for her to reach for his tie, acting as if they are intimate partners as she tugs on it, loosening it up and removing it completely.

"Hold this" she orders, pressing it firmly into his hand as she unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt, exposing skin and the necklaces he is wearing.

And it's then that she realizes her current predicament.

Her hands halt their movement, hovering over his shirt. Her fingers are gently brushing against the fabric, her eyes remain glued to the skin she's just exposed. She cannot lift them back to his. She cannot meet his eyes even though she can feel their gaze burning into her.

"There" she clears her throat, knowing that he is completely unaware of the fact that she is talking since he cannot see her face. Stepping back, her eyes slowly venture towards his "Much better"

But her words are a breathless sigh as their eyes lock.

His gaze holds hers, confusion, wonder, and curiosity all swarming in the blue orbs. The same blue orbs that continue to suck her in. She is drowning in them. The feeling is suffocating, overwhelming, terrifying, and utterly exquisite. It is like a dream come true, like an incessant prayer finally answered. It is ecstatic. Like a destination finally reached, like a heart finally mending, like a soul finally healing. She cannot tear her eyes away. She does not think that she wants to. She can spend eternities swarming, drowning, dancing in the blue orbs.

But Elijah decides to clap his brother on the shoulder, demanding his attention, breaking them out of their blissful frenzy.

It is so cruel; like being jerked back into the lowest pits of hell after getting the sweetest moment in heaven. Abrupt, shocking, and unpleasant. It shakes her out of a reverie that she's never wished to wake up from. It causes the flutter of her heart to falter at having its pleasure so quickly denied. And her eyes yearn already for the spark in his.

"Brother" Elijah begins casually, seemingly unaware of what he's interrupted "Clients are lining up to meet you"

Niklaus nods, looking as dismayed as she at the prospect of cutting their time together short.

"Will you be leaving soon?" Niklaus asks her

"I think so" she admits sadly "You'll be busy so…"

He sighs "I will text you as soon as I buy a phone".

"You better" she teases, smiling at his slight yet nervous answering one. She can tell he is already dreading the upcoming meetings.

"It was truly wonderful to meet you, Caroline" he says, sincerity coloring his features.

"It was truly wonderful to meet you, too, Niklaus" she admits.

He chuckles, briefly returning to his notepad "One last thing, I prefer Klaus"

 _Klaus…_ She tests it as she watches his retreating figure, its taste utterly sweet on her tongue.

That night, she doesn't sleep, her mind unrelentingly painting blue eyes and their enchanting spark instead.

* * *

It takes him two days to text her.

 _Hello, Caroline. This is Klaus._

Comes his simple text. Ever since his show, Caroline has been unable to do anything but cast languid looks upon the pictures she's taken of him as she attempts to sort through them. With the knowledge that he will be viewing them soon, she decides to organize them as a helpless strive to keep her mind occupied. And indeed her mind is occupied. It is occupied with him.

 _Hi Klaus._

She does not know what else to say. Does she ask him how he's doing? Should she ask him how he feels about the success of his show? The critics and reviewers are completely entranced by his paintings. Caroline's read several articles about his show, most of them dealt extensively with the central piece. And only one of them seemed to care about her favorite painting. One soulful sentence was dedicated to it "It's very lonely, melancholy and, most importantly, vulnerable". It is enough for Caroline.

The vibration of her phone in her hand pulls her out of her musings. His next text message saves her from having to dwell on what to say next.

 _I have no idea how to use this blasted thing. It took me 20 minutes of confusion and 30 minutes of Kol's sarcasm to find the texting feature._

Caroline knows Kol to be Elijah's brother. She's heard his name several times, always in the context of mischief and causing irritation. Elijah has the tendency of gritting his teeth at the mention of the troublemaking Kol. He's never mentioned Klaus, nor does she know if he has any other siblings. Obviously none of them cause enough trouble to garner a reaction from the stoic Elijah.

Snickering at the idea of a confused Klaus in the face of technology, Caroline types back a text to him,

 _Next time save yourself the trouble. I will teach you without mockery. Promise :)_

His response is instant,

 _What do you mean by ":)"?_

She cannot help the laugh that escapes her. Never in her life has she imagined she would have to explain this to anyone who is not her mother's age.

 _It's a smiley face, old man ;)_

Her phone buzzes quickly. She's never known a guy interested enough in a conversation with her to fire back immediate texts.

 _How is ":)" a smiley face? What the bloody hell is ";)"?_

She giggles once more, causing Katherine, who is preoccupying herself with the Real Housewives of Whatever and a cup of wine to side eye her, growing suspicious of Caroline's sudden attachment to her phone.

 _You're looking at it the wrong way. Turn your phone horizontally and it will make sense, Dinosaur._

"Who are you talking to?" Katherine quirks an eyebrow at Caroline.

"Umm" Caroline murmurs, wondering if it would be wise to tell Katherine the truth "It's… Klaus."

The blonde quickly regrets her decision to tell the truth for Katherine's face splits into a sly smirk, wiggling her eyebrows at Caroline.

"So you're technically sexting?"

"No" Caroline rolls her eyes "We're just talking."

"About?" the brunette insists.

"None of your business. Pay attention to your trashy reality show" she replies firmly.

"Why do you think I watch those reality shows? I like sticking my nose into other people's business" Katherine says frankly.

Caroline ignores Katherine when her phone buzzes again.

 _Ah now I see it. And I'm guessing the ;) is a winky face then?_

Caroline smiles, hesitating for a moment before sending her next text.

 _You learn fast for someone from the Stone Age ;)_

She can practically hear his huff with his answering message,

 _I thought you promised to teach me without the mockery._

Caroline suppresses another giggle, attempting to avoid catching Katherine's attention once more.

 _That was before I knew how lacking your knowledge of technology is._

When all he answers with is a grumpy, annoyed emoji, Caroline laughs again, managing to snap Katherine's attention to her once more. The latter shoots her a teasing grin when their eyes meet.

 _Hey you found the emoji! Good job, old grump._

He answers with a snide remark about how she is hurting his ego. She teases him that he is too uptight for his own good. He jokes about how sad he is that their friendship will be interrupted so quickly, and she tells him he doesn't mean that. They spend hours talking, and they manage to set up a date for him to see her newest work within three days.

 _You know, I meant what I said earlier._ He says as their conversation winds down.

 _About what?_ She asks.

 _About us being friends. I really would like for us to be friends._

 _I would like that a lot, too._

Even as she answers, she feels like they are already more than that.

* * *

Caroline's living room floor must suffer.

She paces back and forth, drilling holes into the ground. He will be there any minute. Everything is set up to perfection. She knows exactly what she will show him and in what order. She knows that she would offer him a drink beforehand, strike up a friendly conversation, too, before shocking him. Kathrine left the apartment a few minute ago under Caroline's command (and the promise of burgers on her treat later in the week).Not that it stopped the brunette from making suggestive comments over why Caroline wanted the house for herself. Honestly, Caroline would take all of those comments and then some if it meant avoiding Katherine being a witness to the first time Klaus sees himself in her pictures. So, unsurprisingly, control freak Caroline has thought of everything. She even fluffed the pillows on the couch and cleaned up a little.

Yet she paces.

She's been pacing for the past ten minutes, namely when she ran out of things to do in preparation, and her only salvation is in the fact that Klaus should be arriving any minute now.

"You can do this, Caroline" she starts, encouraging herself out loud "It's all going to go just fine. It's all going to go according to plan. He's going to see the pictures and he's going to love them and allow you to publish them and then the show will be a smashing suc-"

Her not-so-inner monologue is interrupted by a knock on her door. She approaches the dreadful barrier, her heart beats already erratic. She gives herself one last look in the mirror, sending a meaningful look to her reflection.

"You can do this" she whispers one last time to herself then swings the door open.

Her breath hitches.

She's never pictured him standing in her doorway. She's never thought such opportunity would be presented. Yet there he is, standing with a small smirk on his face, one that she's never seen before, and a form fitting Henley. He definitely looks much better than he did the last time she's seen him.

"Hi" she greets him with a smile.

He doesn't lose his smirk as he, much to her surprise, reaches for his phone, fumbling with it. Hers buzzes in the back pocket of her jeans a moment later with a message from him.

 _Hello, Caroline._

She chuckles lightly, attempting to shrug off the unexplainable urge to hear her name escaping those exceptionally delectable lips.

 _God, I'm despicable,_ her mind echoes.

"Oh is this how this is gonna go?" she asks playfully with a quirked eyebrow.

 _Yes, it's easier than carrying around a notepad ;)_

He loses his smirk in favor of a grin that still manages to somehow make him look more devious than she's ever seen him before. She can tell that his current look is not one that he wears in his most private moments. Like the ones that she's pried on many times before.

She winces at the thought.

"You know you're standing right here. You don't need to send winky faces" she teases him.

His eyebrows shoot up and when her phone buzzes again, all he's sent her is a winky face.

She rolls her eyes with a wide smile stubbornly etched on her face "Just come on in"

Unlike what Caroline's expected, he doesn't take in his surroundings when he enters the apartment. His eyes, instead, are focused solely on her, intent on studying her every move, dedicating the entirety of his attention on her. She wonders what he's thinking. She wonders if he likes her. She wonders if he has any clue at all of how entranced she is by him.

"So…" she clears her throat "Would you like something to drink? I made some coffee"

 _Coffee would be lovely, thank you._

She heads towards the adjoining, small kitchen and hears him tagging along with her, his gaze still burns the back of her head as it stays glued to her blonde curls. She distracts herself by focusing on pouring two cups of coffee, and reminding herself to breathe when she turns around to see him casually leaning against the counter with that same scrutinizing look in his eyes.

"How long have you been in Chicago?" she blurts out the first question that comes to her mind, setting his coffee mug next to him with cream and sugar which he doesn't touch.

 _6 months._

"Oh that's not too long" she answers lamely and he just smiles at her, his eyes following the way her hand caught a stray curl to tuck behind her ear, and her other hand reached to splash some cream into her coffee with great interest "How do you like it so far?"

He seems disgruntled at the prospect of having to tear his eyes away from her to answer the question.

 _I've recently began to truly appreciate it._

Caroline smiles "I'm really glad"

She watches him slowly lifting his cup of coffee to take a sip, all the while keeping his eyes on her, before awkwardly starting "I know Elijah is from England but he never really talks about it. And he doesn't have an accent"

He shrugs.

 _It's nothing out of the ordinary. We were rather young when we moved to the United States, and we've stayed here ever since, except for our eldest brother Finn. And Rebekah is now in France on a study abroad program._

"Oh wow" she mouths, astonished at the number of siblings he has "You have a big family. That must be nice"

He gives her a smile that does not reach his eyes, and refrains from commenting. She wants to ask why for the first time his smile seems insincere around her, but bites her tongue and attempts to think of other subjects.

Yet she doesn't have to think of it for too long. As she reaches for the sugar, he suddenly takes hold of her arm. Too shocked she is by his abrupt move that she can't do anything but stand completely still, feeling the warmth of his calloused fingers seeping into her veins. He seems utterly entranced by her wrist, turning her palm to face upward in order to inspect it. It takes her several minutes to realize what's sent him into a frenzy. Her bird tattoo, placed on her wrist, right where her pulse would be drumming. Gently, as if she's about to break under his touch, he places his thumb over the ink, stroking the sensitive skin soothingly.

She does not think he's thought that his fingers can burn her.

It takes him mere ten seconds to break out of his reverie and gently pull away, but it seems like an eternity for Caroline. He looks flustered and embarrassed when he looks back at her, a nervous half smile on his face before he looks back at his cell phone.

 _It's beautiful._

She can almost feel the shyness of his words through his simple text. "Thank you" she answers softly.

He avoids her eyes as he focuses back on his phone.

 _You wanted to show me your project?_

With a sharp intake of breath, Caroline nods and motions for him to follow her. Upon attempting to decide what would be the best way to present the pictures to him, Caroline's opted to use technology. She does not have the space to frame the pictures and arrange them in a way that would be like a miniature gallery show. Nor did she like the idea of simply presenting him with a photo album, simply because it felt too bland. So when Katherine (Ha! Who knew she can be useful) threw in the idea of a slideshow, Caroline immediately adopted it. She chose around thirty pictures of the ones she's captured, her absolute favorite, and organized them into a simple slideshow that she intends on playing on her TV. It was simple, just a few pictures with minimal transitioning effects, but it seemed like it would have the wanted effect.

As she invites him to settle onto the couch comfortably, she does her utmost best to not think about her nerves. She does not want to think about his reaction or the knotting in her stomach or her slightly unsteady hands. Yet, she finds herself incredibly excited to see his very first reaction to her little project. And as she fumbles with her laptop in order to hook it into the TV and begin the slideshow, she does not even bother to look in his direction; far too afraid of what kind of emotions such a thing would invoke.

"Here we go" she breathes, more so to herself than to him, since she is not particularly close enough for him to see the movement of her lips.

She hits enter and lifts her eyes to his face as it starts playing.

Klaus freezes.

With him the entire room freezes. For countless moments, Caroline's world seems to pause, hanging on every glimpse of emotionless reaction painted on Niklaus' face. Even her blood seems to have frozen in its place, waiting with baited breath for anything. Any reaction. Her heart doesn't pound. It doesn't seem to beat at all. And the breath she's taken refuses to be released. Her lungs clutch viciously, unwilling to surrender until this handsome, mysterious and utterly magnificent stranger moves.

His eyes twitch. Then his lips quiver. Then she sees him swallow and let out a long sigh.

And it is then that the world is allowed to move again.

All at once, her blood begins racing, furiously rushing to her face. Her heartbeats turn into incessant, deafening pounds against her ribcage, threatening to burst. Her breaths turn shallow, almost gasping, trying to keep up with the exhilarating, and frightening, adrenaline pumping through her body. Her hands tremble. Her own lips quiver. And it is all too overwhelming, all too nerve wracking, she is unsure how much longer she can take the excitement before it destroys her body.

She expects it all to be over when the slideshow comes into a halt and he _finally_ meets her gaze; a mixture of awe, wonder, and the tiniest bit of fear? Nervousness? Concern? Coloring his now unguarded blue eyes. Yet everything seems to rush even faster. The pounding is even louder. Her chest cannot seem to hold her exploding heart anymore. Her hands shake incessantly. Her face grows warmer still, blood abandons every other part of her to color her cheeks and neck with the brightest colors of roses. And her lungs seem to take in too quick a breath, and to hold the air in for too long at the same time. She needs for him to break her free from his stormy blue eyes.

Except he does not.

He seems as entranced as her. His lips quivering still. His own hands are shaking, almost causing him to drop his phone. She does not know what can possibly be running through his head. Nor does he seem to have the slightest hint of what she might be thinking. Nor does either of them seem to understand that neither of them can think of anything but the way the other's eyes seem to twinkle, or how their depth seems to reach farther than the ocean, taking them on a journey that might last an eternity. And even then an eternity would not be a long enough time for such ecstatically painful journey.

"This is what I've been working on" comes her fragile sigh.

She immediately regrets it.

Faster than her mind can register, his expression drops. The vulnerable blue eyes turn icy cold, his inviting features harden, and the so pleasant, the oh-so-breathtaking, colors painting the details of his face morph into a stony exterior. Cool. Unforgiving. Careless.

"Klaus…" she starts, this time far more panicked than amazed.

He does not answer. His gaze leaves hers. He stands, walks to the door and leaves.

* * *

She does not sleep.

For two straight days not a single moment of rest take pity on her stinging eyes. No, she has not cried. Her grief is much more of a silent affair. Tearless. Wordless. Even lossless. She hasn't lost him. She never had him. She barely even knows him. But a part of her feels as if she has broken something. Something beautiful. She does not in the slightest blame him. Nor does she fancy herself to have understood what he is thinking. It does not even sound fair for her to start speculating over what his thoughts are now wandering to. Or why his reaction was so entrancing. Or why his later reaction was so definitive. Or why the two of them are so utterly conflicted.

She is almost resigned to the loss for the first two days. She does not contemplate how she can fix this, how she can get her show running, how she can get their tentative and painfully young friendship back. How she can win him back. Even though she's never truly won him over. She does not text him. She does not call Elijah. She does not seek him in her favorite park where she's almost certain he would be. She does not do anything.

The third day is painful.

The bags under her eyes are hard to miss. They weigh heavily on her face and drag down her spirits and heart. The caffeine in her bitter morning coffee becomes detestable, her greatest enemy. It almost loathes her as much as she loathes it. And her helpless soul seems to gradually fade, sick of its own apathy.

On the fourth day she calls Elijah.

"In my office" he says as soon as he answers her. So she goes to his office.

She does not know what exactly she wants to do or say. She does not know whether she wants Elijah to play a part in this. Or if she wants him to not interfere. Or if she wants to tell him that she will be working on something from scratch for her show. But she hopes she can find an answer, that he already has something to say to her when he sees her.

He is polite enough not to comment on her exhausted state. Yet he does not find politeness necessary as he proceeds to the subject without introductions.

"Niklaus has told me about the little incident" he says frankly, face neutral "He was quite thrown off by it"

"I know" she murmurs weakly.

"Surely, Caroline, you understand that his … behavior was more so related to his shock than anything personal or any kind of disapproval" Elijah's tone is gentle.

"I don't really know what his reaction was based on, Elijah" Caroline starts slowly "And I don't really blame him for being so definitive about it"

"It might not be as definitive as you think." Elijah reasons "Give him a couple of days to mull over it. I'm sure he'll come around"

"OK" she nods.

A couple of minutes later and she is walking down the street back to her apartment. She feels slightly better, but she has nothing to show for her visit.

She finally manages to fall into a restless sleep that night.

* * *

He sends her a text on the seventh day.

 _Why?_

Is all it reads. But it takes too long for her to know the answer to it. What does she say and how can she phrase it?

 _Meet me before sunrise tomorrow by the fountain in the park where you usually paint._

* * *

It is starting to cool down again. Caroline finds herself rubbing her hands together of the cold as well as nervousness while sitting on the spread blanket she's brought with her. He said he would meet her, but she cannot help but wonder if he's thought it over and decided against it. Her worries are unfounded, though, when he turns up on time to the spot.

The only greetings they exchange are polite smiles. He sits down next to her, watching as the sky begins to gradually light up from its infinite blackness. For several minutes he doesn't seem interested in anything besides watching the scenery before him. She imitates him, focusing her eyes on the first shades of pink invading the sky. Her phone buzzes a few moments later.

 _It's beautiful._ He sends.

Caroline nods, turning back to him, their eyes meeting once more. Yet his are still hesitant. He doesn't allow her to see into them.

"I love sunrises," she says softly "always have. And the view from this spot is amazing. It's my favorite spot in the city".

 _I understand._

He gives her a small smile, then turns his attention back to the rising sun. For a few minutes at least before finally breaking the silence with the same simple text.

 _Why?_

She lets out a long sigh, watching the now colorful sky for several moments before managing to turn towards his questioning gaze once more.

"I was blocked." She starts steadily, surprised at the sudden ease that washes over her. There's no tension in her shoulders. There is no shakiness in her voice. She decides that the outcome of this meeting doesn't matter. Whether he continues to refuse it or determines to embrace it, does not matter. What really matters is how he managed to light up her heart. Even though he did so unintentionally "I couldn't get inspired. Nothing was capturing my attention. I went through a rough break-up right after my last show and everything sort of just dimmed after." She pauses when she sees his attention turned to his phone.

 _Was your boyfriend an inspiration for you?_

She chuckles "No. And that was the problem. When he broke-up with me, for being too in love with my job for his taste of all things, I realized I've been in this one long relationship and it was so mind-numbingly boring. There was no excitement, no passion. Even love was beginning to fade and with time I just stayed with him out of convenience. He was the only thing I knew" she exhales heavily, avoiding his eyes as she adds "It all sort of went downhill from there…Until I saw you".

His breath hitches, and her eyes follow every glimpse of emotions on his unreadable face.

"You were standing right here the first time I saw you, right where we're sitting right now." She continues with a calm tone "I had no intention of taking pictures of you, I only wanted to photograph the scenery. But then I looked through the lenses and …it just happened. I just couldn't stop myself." Her voice trembles "You became my muse, Klaus. It's just that simple"

His gaze never weavers from her face. Even as the silence stretches between them, he doesn't fixate his attention on the scenery before them again. Then he starts smiling. So very, painstakingly slowly his lips curve into a content smile. It's not the widest he's ever worn, nor is it the happiest, yet it's the most beautiful. A hum of serenity washes over them as it plays across his features.

 _Yes._ He texts her, piercing the peacefulness of the moment.

"Klaus…" she whispers.

 _I want you to publish them, Caroline._

She beams at him.

Later that morning, after she and Klaus have breakfast together in a corner café, after they part ways with content smiles, she bursts into Elijah's office.

"I want to learn Sign Language"

Elijah smiles knowingly at her.

* * *

The first time she talks to him using sign language is two months later.

Elijah agrees to teach her. He also agrees to keep it a secret from Klaus so she can surprise him once she's perfected it. After two months of incessant lessons, she is finally ready. Last night Elijah's seen her off with a proud grin on his face. And she cannot find a more appropriate moment than this instant as they sit in comfortable silence across from each other, sipping coffee.

During the past two months, she and Klaus grow increasingly closer to each other. They have yet to cross the line of friendship, but they both know there's something more than that lurking behind their fond looks. They develop the habit of spending mornings together in the café across the street from their park. They usually spend the morning in silence. He sketches and she is preoccupied with the organization of her new show which Elijah has scheduled for six months from the day Klaus agreed to the publication in order to be able to promote it properly.

Today, she takes unusual interest in observing him. She watches him sketching for a moment too long, focusing on the movement of his hand and the frown of concentration pulling at his eyebrows. He never lets her see what's inside the sketchbook, deeming it too private. She never insisted, either. After a few moments, Klaus feels her scrutinizing gaze, and averts his eyes from the sketchbook to look at her.

" _Will you pass me the sugar?"_ she mouths the words while gesturing them with shaky hands.

He doesn't seem to notice at first, reaching for the sugar to hand it to her, only for his hand to stop mid-air. He stares at her wide-eyed, his mouth slightly agape. He looks quiet comical. Caroline does not think he's ever been this shocked around her. And, unable to resist, she reaches for her camera and swiftly snaps a picture of him. That seems to shake the shock away, for his face splits into a wide smile quickly, his dimples winking at her. His face radiates happiness, eyes sparkling, joy dancing in them, and she cannot help as her reaction mirrors his.

" _Thank you"_ he says.

" _What for?"_ she frowns.

" _For everything"._

She immortalizes the moment with one more picture. Little does she know, he will immortalize her smile and bright blue eyes in his sketchbook first, and on a large canvas later.

* * *

 **Let me know what you think guys!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello everyone! Yes, yes, this is no illusion. I finally updated. I am so so sorry for how long this took. But it's not the last part. There is at least one more part. I can't help myself. I am very wordy.**

 **For clarification: Italicized conversation is spoken in Sign Language.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It is a well-known fact that Caroline turns into a mess of sizzling nerves shortly before any of her shows. And Klaus experiences that first hand when he meets her in their usual location, at the usual time merely a day before the opening of her show.

For the life of her, she cannot stop fidgeting. She pretends to read her book for a moment, only to give up and check her phone finding it dead silent and going back to repeat the cycle several times over within a minute. She cannot help it. The last two days are quiet. There is nothing that she can do and all the last minute preparations are handed over to Elijah. She cannot fuss over the arrangement of the photographs, or the colors that she thinks would complement her work, or the appropriate lighting. Those details were ironed out already, and everything that's left is in Elijah's capable hands. That does not, however, stop Caroline-control-freak-Forbes from looking for something, absolutely a _nything_ to do. In spite of knowing better, her mind itches to find new tasks; the importance of the date refusing to depart from her irritable mind. And it just feels incredibly _wrong_ to not be doing anything in preparation.

From his spot across the booth, Klaus sighs exasperatedly. He, too, has given up on his book; Caroline's state proving to be an incessant distraction. At last, he gently places his hand over hers, stopping it from flying towards the long-suffering smartphone. She looks up at him, ignoring the way her heart jumps at the small contact, ignoring the way it sinks when he withdraws his hand in favor of talking, ignoring the voice in her head that's telling her she's been suppressing too many feelings, for far too long.

" _Are you alright?"_ he simply asks, eyes seeming genuinely concerned.

"Yes," she squeaks out, to which his lips twitch in amusement, "I'm just nervous a little. I'm always like this right before a big show."

Her unnerved sigh is enough to cause a frown to crinkle his brow. He is not used to seeing Caroline like this. During the past months, she has been perfectly collected, albeit a little bossy and demanding, but not nervous. He's assumed that she would be relieved once all the details were perfectly dealt with and all she has to do is attend.

" _Why? You have taken care of all the details perfectly, Caroline, there's no reason for your nerves."_ His eyes are gentle and comforting.

"Yeah thanks now I'm not nervous." She mutters. And from the puzzled look that crosses his face, she knows that he does not understand her.

" _It's just…"_ she starts only to halt a moment later, _"it's just that I hate having nothing to do. I know, I know I ordered all the right things and gave all the appropriate orders but I'm afraid they'll screw everything up! Ever since I was a little girl, I learned that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. And I would very much like to arrange the decorations myself because I know that whoever is doing it right now will just hang them and they need to trickle down!"_ By the end of her speech, her arms are flailing about in wild gestures, her tone has reached new levels of squeaky that draw the attention of other patrons towards them. And Klaus has his lips pressed in a thin line. Not in irritation, rather in amusement. Extreme amusement. In fact she thinks he's holding back laughter. Which he succeeds at doing for the total of two minutes before bursting into beautiful laughter.

Caroline ignores the tug at her stomach at the sound. She tries not to think of the fact that he cannot hear the sound of his own laugh. Does he realize how pleasing the sound actually is? Probably not. He always holds it back. She sees it in his eyes, painted on his features. He tries to swallow it every single time, settling for a grin instead. This is a rare moment. And it takes her breath away.

Until she remembers he is laughing at her.

Schooling her features into annoyance rather than the amused awe that took over her merely a moment ago, Caroline emphatically grits out of her teeth "It's. Not. Funny."

Klaus gulps down his laughter, biting his lower lip in an attempt to neutralize his expression. The gleam of amusement does not leave his eyes, however, causing Caroline to exasperatedly roll her eyes and cross her arms over her chest. In the past months, Klaus has recognized the gesture to mean that she no longer wanted to talk to him.

" _I'm sorry, sweetheart. I did not mean to offend you."_ He gives her his best puppy eyes.

"I'm unconvinced." She pouts, before her eyes lighten up and her stance loosen, "But you could make it up to me."

Klaus eyes her warily, raising a questioning eyebrow.

" _I could really use a project to distract me…"_ she starts slowly, her lips curving into a smirk. Klaus isn't sure that he wants to know what's to follow as he stares at her expectantly, _"and your track record of formal wear is a train-wreck at best…"_

" _No."_ He shakes his head.

" _Yes."_ She insists, grinning devilishly.

" _Caroline, you're not taking me shopping."_ His expression is bordering on terrified as the glimmer of mischief in her eyes intensifies.

" _Yes, I am."_

With that, she gathers her belongings and slides out of the booth. Before Klaus can even comprehend what's happening, he's being dragged out of his seat and marched down the street towards the shopping mall. He barely even has time to throw a pleading glance towards the heavens before he is being shoved into a store.

* * *

"Yes." She shoves another dress shirt into his very full hands. He feels like she is immobilizing him on purpose. That would stop him from being able to object to anything she throws his way.

"No." she shoves a black shirt away.

Marching down the aisle, she speedily picks out several ties and hurls them in his direction. He eyes the red one on top of the pile like it's his greatest enemy. Not that he would be able to argue with Caroline if she decides that's the one.

"AHA!" She exclaims happily, throwing in a pink shirt.

No. That is not happening. He would never ever, ever wear a pink dress shirt. Not even for Caroline. And his look spells as much.

"This doesn't concern you." She points a finger at his disgruntled expression. He raises an incredulous eyebrow, begging to differ. But that is of no consequence to Caroline, "You will take what I give you, and you will like it. Trust me, I know things when it comes to fashion."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. Yet when she demands that he marches into the fitting rooms, he doesn't dare to exclude a certain item from her collection.

* * *

Caroline giggles to herself as she watches Klaus practically stomping towards the fitting rooms. Honestly, she does not think either the pink or the purple dress shirts are a good idea, but she couldn't resist seeing the look on his face. And, as usual, he doesn't disappoint. It's too bad she will not actually see him in either of them. He will not indulge her enough to step out in anything other than what he believes to be the correct combination of suit and shirt.

It takes him around fifteen minutes to step out of the fitting room. Caroline is just about ready to fall asleep on the comfy couch when she finally spots him. And all ideas of taking a nap vanish from her stunned brain. He saunters towards her. His suit jacket perfectly accentuating his broad shoulders. The light blue shirt he wears opened several buttons down the chest, reflects the color of his eyes so beautifully. Caroline's eyes are glued to every inch of his form. She cannot take her eyes off of him until he is standing right in front of her, a slight smirk gracing his features.

"You look…" she starts, her next word coming out in a breathless sigh, "Perfect."

 _Too perfect._

Her hands have a mind of their own as they reach out to him, unnecessarily smoothing out the lapels of his jacket. His eyes are following every detail of her face. She can sense them. Their caress almost taunting. And she feels it again. That tame fire within her. Stirring. Reeling in its place. Raging for a few moments. Tantalizing in its ferocity. Only to once again settle into sweet temper. Settle into a pleasurable tingling, intoxicating her senses. Slathering her lips with hopeful anticipation. The kind that leaves her feeling the phantom of his lips against them. The kind that leaves her tasting him on her tongue even though she never had him. The kind that lead her skin to settle into a lazy, comfortable hum. Awaiting anything. Accepting anything. The smallest, the faintest, the most delicate of his touches. Or the brutally forceful embrace that would crush her bones against one another. Or anything in between.

She always imagined having pent up attraction would resemble a wildfire; that she would be itching within her own skin. Yearning, longing, _needing_ for him to quell the burn. But it's different. The heat is far from a torment. And she wants him. Far more than she will ever care to admit. Wants to touch and feel and love every part of him, wants to feel him sinking beneath her bones, underneath her darkest secrets, into the deepest parts of her heart…her soul. And even the smallest of touches seem to fulfill this desire. Smothering her in ecstatic craving for the color of his eyes and the curve of his lips.

And it's because of this desire, that she feels her heart tremble when his hands settle over hers, their calloused roughness embracing her soft skin. His touch beckons her to look up at him. Never had he touched her so intimately. Not when space between them has diminished so much that she can distinguish the green flickers and the unique grey tainting the blue of his eyes. And they're so gentle in the way they behold her, much like all of his features are. All lines that mar them have reduced themselves into smooth perfection. The hints of loss, of confusion, of sadness she usually notes cannot be seen. He looks as if he has stepped out of a painting. An ethereal, otherworldly one. And her breath hitches at the sight of him. And she knows not what to expect other than eternal entrapment in his embrace should he choose to never move a muscle ever again.

But he does. After infinities have passed and the world has crashed and the universe has reborn itself, he moves. With such gradual languidness he moves towards her. Her hands remain in his still as his lips descend towards hers. Their first touch shocks her into complete stillness. Their second cajoles her into a wanton sigh. Their third promise to haunt her dreams, promise to have her chasing after their taste for nights to come. She gives in to his kisses. With all of their delicate brushes and caring chasteness.

And Caroline is convinced, she is absolutely certain, that his gentle kisses are all that she will ever need for the rest of her life.

* * *

Caroline finds herself leaning dreamily against her apartment's door for several minutes after Klaus' departure.

Their cautious kisses were interrupted by a grinning salesperson. Rather cheerily, he exclaimed,

"I see you found everything to your satisfaction!"

Caroline, shaken by the intrusion, broke away from Klaus clumsily.

"Yes everything is terrific." She muttered, the blood rushing to her face. Though, judging by the delight on the salesperson's face, their little exhibition has made his entire day.

When she looks back at Klaus, he is still looking at her with utter adoration coloring his features. He seems dazed, forehead leaning against hers, eyes downcast, entranced by the bow of her generous lips still. And his breath, she can feel its gentle tickle against her cheeks, comes out in shaky puffs. Neither of them speaks as he slowly pulls away and disappears back into the dressing room. Even when he steps out with the fruits of their day in his grasp, the only indication he gives that their kisses were not merely a phantom of her imagination, is a beaming smile. And she returns it with an equally bright one of her own. Talking about the kiss seems unnecessary when his eyes cannot bear the idea of looking away from her.

He drops her off at her apartment, bidding her goodbye with a chaste kiss to her forehead.

"Are you OK?" Katherine jostles Caroline out of her haze, "You've been leaning against that door for the past ten minutes."

"I so was not." Caroline retorts, immediately pushing herself away from the door,

"Sure you weren't." Katherine smirks, tucking a leg underneath her "So, what did McDreamy do now?"

Caroline cannot help the furious blush, hating the devious grin it elicits from Katherine.

"Come on," Katherine cajoles "you know you wanna tell me."

"He kissed me." The words are out of Caroline's mouth before she has any power to stop them.

Well, she _really_ wants to tell Katherine. The brunette, never one to disappoint, instantly turns off whatever TV show she is watching with perfect curls and make-up, and pats the space next to her on the couch.

"Details." She demands, giving Caroline her undivided attention.

Flopping on the couch, Caroline gushes out as many details as possible without allowing Katherine to intrude on the intimacy of their moment. She finishes off with another dreamy sigh, casting her eyes in the direction of their coffee table. She can still see his face moments before he kissed her. She doubts the memory would ever allow her mind to free itself from it. No matter what consequences the memory will bring about. Pain. Joy. Both. It doesn't matter. Not when his eyes sparkle like she's never seen them do before. Not when the sight of him is so intoxicating. Not when even a kiss as innocent as a brush of his lips upon her forehead is as satisfying as if he has just tamed all the fires within her.

She expects Katherine's mockery; a snide remark followed by a crude comment that would foul the magic of the moment. Yet, she receives none. Katherine bestows her with a contemplative expression instead. Absently, Katherine sips from her glass of wine and avoids Caroline's puzzled stare.

"So?" Caroline quirks an eyebrow at the brunette.

"So?" Katherine mimics.

Caroline huffs, "You're awfully quiet for someone with so many chances for mockery."

"There's nothing to say." Katherine shoots her a small smile, setting down her glass of red wine "It sounds like it was perfect. And you sound happy."

Caroline is left to stare at her friend's rising figure with her mouth hung open. The brunette treks across the living room and heads towards their kitchen where she takes out a bowl from a cupboard.

"What are you doing?" Caroline frowns, joining her friend in the small kitchen.

"What does it look like?" Katherine shrugs, disappearing behind the refrigerator's door only to emerge with lettuce and tomatoes in hands, "I'm making a salad for lunch. Aren't you starving?"

"Katherine," Caroline leans her weight against the kitchen island, imploring Katherine to stop her movements to look at her, "what is it?"

"Nothing," Katherine continues, turning her back to Caroline start cutting the vegetables, "I'm just making a salad."

"You're not saying anything, and that's usually when you have the most to say." Caroline states quietly to Katherine's back.

Heaving a sigh, the latter turns around. "You're not gonna like what I have to say."

Caroline swallows, but nods, "I would like to hear it anyway."

"I think you're falling in love with him." Katherine blurts out, only to grimace, wishing she started differently.

"Uh—OK" Caroline's frown deepens as her friend approaches the kitchen island separating them, placing her hands on it.

"I think you're already in love with him," Katherine goes on "which would not be a bad thing if you actually knew him."

"Katherine-" Caroline starts, interrupted when the brunette holds up a hand.

"Don't, Caroline. You need to hear all of this first."

Caroline makes a show of pursing her lips tightly; an attempt to lighten the mood and calm the knots in her stomach.

"I would have been very supportive of this, Care, because I think he's in love with you, too. But—the way you talk about him? It sounds to me like you're talking about an angel, not a real person."

"What do you mean?" Caroline whispers, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"It's like you step out of this world whenever he's involved and into a magical bubble where even sadness is beautiful. And I don't think you're aware of that or that you're ready for when the bubble inevitably bursts."

"Katherine, there is no-"

"I've seen the pictures you took of him. And even for someone like me, he looks sad. And lonely. And, Care, that sadness? It is still there in his eyes, even when he is with you. Do you ever wonder why he looks so alone? Do you even see it in his eyes? Are you aware that it's there?"

She takes a shuddering breath, "I do. I see it. And I wonder why. And I wish I could reach out and wipe out that single speck of stubborn melancholy from his eyes. But it's there. Even when he smiles."

"And taking that misery away is what you want the most, isn't it?" Katherine's tone is sharper than she intends.

"I…" but Caroline is at a loss for words. She knows not how to respond. Her thoughts jumble together. Confusion, anxiety and a little hint of sadness invading it. She races through every memory, every touch, every word, and slowly begins to understand a resonating truth: through all of their time together, she's remained outside of his world. One that would not allow her in. One that would not allow her to understand him. A pristine white image she's seen, an image no different from the one she's known, from the one she's had when she first started taking pictures of him.

Katherine's shoulders slump. She rounds the kitchen island to stand next to Caroline. Gently, she places a hand on the blonde's trembling shoulder. She can see the beginnings of tears in her friend's eyes.

"Care, I don't mean to hurt you. I'm only trying to protect you. But whenever I look at you together, whenever I hear you talk about him, I become more and more convinced that you fell in love with him as an artist would fall in love with a work of art. It's time that you remembered that he's a person. And that you should not be there to marvel at his sadness. Or to try to fix it."

* * *

The light blue dress brushes softly across her skin, its silky smoothness teasing the skin of her legs. It parts with her strides, giving tantalizing glimpses of her creamy skin. Caroline takes in her appearance in the full length mirror in her room. Her hair is pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, a few curls strategically framing her face. Her make up perfectly applied. Her red lipstick making a striking contrast with the pastel color of her dress, her eyeliner making the blue in her eyes pop. She runs her hands over the soft fabric, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles.

It is then that she notices the slight tremble of her hands. Her nerves always surface on the opening night of her show. No matter how many times she does this, there will always be this twinge of anxious anticipation at the pit of her stomach. And she wishes that this feeling would never go away, that her work would never turn into a mundane habit that would no longer bring her joy or excitement.

Tonight, however, she knows that this is not the only reason for her nervousness. It is not the only reason for the slight tremor of her hand or the quiver of her lower lip. Tonight, her nerves have just as much to do with Klaus as they do with her show. Not only will he be the reason for the brand new style she will be presenting tonight, but also she has been feeling as if he is going with her as her date; what's with him picking her up and their matching outfits. Not that they officially admitted that to each other. Nor have they talked about the nature of their current predicament. In spite of Katherine's words ringing in her ears, Caroline could not bring herself to approach the subject. Instead, they have continued their morning routine after their little encounter at the clothing store. But neither of them has found the courage to repeat the earlier incident. There were moments where he seemed close, so very close to leaning in and brushing his lips against hers. His eyes would sparkle and flick to her lips for the briefest of moments. He seems to linger on their shape. He seems to yearn for another taste. Her own lips would tingle with anticipation, waiting for the pillow-softness to brush against hers. Yet something held him back. Time after time he would snap out of his frenzy. And Caroline's embarrassment and unavoidable sting of rejection stopped her from taking matters into her own hands. She wanted, so badly she wanted, to place one kiss after another on his crimson-colored lips. Taste him once more. Without reservation. Without control. Nothing but breathless sighs and trembling gasps would separate them then.

 _Get a grip Caroline._ She chides herself. _If he does not get the nerve to kiss you again, you'll do it yourself._

A soft knock on the front door startles Caroline out of her reverie. She knows it's Klaus; the shyness and uncertainty of his knock cluing her in. After a final look at herself in the mirror, she strides towards the door. Klaus greets her on the other side with a small smirk on his face and a solitary red rose in his grasp. His stance confident as he leans against the frame, owning to the appeal that is only magnified by the way he's wearing his suit tonight. She almost lets out an appreciative hum at the fact that he's opted out of a tie and kept several of his shirt's buttons opened, revealing his dark necklaces. And something else. On his left shoulder, there is a small hint of black ink peaking from underneath his shirt. It's so small that she cannot even make out its shape. It remains hidden as if to taunt her. For a moment, she sinks into a daydream, wondering what kind of tattoo is etched onto his skin. But her daydream is interrupted before it manages a fantasy. Klaus shifts, standing up straight as he looks at her. And it is only then that Caroline notices how his confident stance faltered. Her gaze wanders back to his eyes, noticing the way they seem to take her in with unhidden adoration. They race over her form, appreciative and awe-struck.

"Hi" she gives him a small wave.

He swallows visibly in answer before offering her the single red rose.

" _You are beautiful._ "

She giggles, softly stroking the petals of the rose, "You look good, too."

He smiles at her, soft and gentle. For a moment, neither of them make a move, as if completely forgetting the event they should be attending. That is, until with one determined stride Klaus steps into Caroline's personal space and his lips descend onto hers. She topples backwards a little, as shocked as the first time he's kissed her. The red rose slips from her fingers as his lips remain incessant against hers. Unlike the first time, there is no hesitance in their touch. Instead, they are firm, determined. They take their fill of her, departing for a second only to reunite with her lips and continue a dazzling dance. Her hands wind up around his neck, pulling him closer, as his wrap around her waist, pulling her flesh against him. She lets out a strangled gasp when his tongue traces her lower lip. And she can do nothing but submit to his demands, granting him access and shivering at the sweet invasion of his tongue.

"What are you two kids up to?" Katherine's indignant voice interrupts them.

Caroline is snapped out of her trance immediately, pulling away from an oblivious Klaus. He stumbles a little, caught off guard.

"Katherine." Caroline murmurs, slightly detaching herself from a still disoriented Klaus. Just by looking at her face, Caroline knows that Katherine enjoyed interrupting them a little too much.

"Yes, it's me." Katherine muses "I live here and I'm catching a ride with you guys, remember?"

"Right." She clears her throat.

Klaus, by then, has completely detached himself from her, looking awkwardly at the intruding brunette. He is yet to be officially introduced to her, although Caroline speaks of her often.

"You must be Klaus." Katherine says, advancing towards him with an outstretched hand and a sly grin.

Klaus blinks twice before reaching out his own hand in greeting.

"Pleasure to meet you," Katherine says, "but you have red lipstick on your face."

Klaus doesn't seem to catch on to what Katherine is saying, not until Caroline grasps his chin and turns him towards her, letting out a horrified "Oh my God" and running to her room. She comes back with a make-up removing napkin.

"We made such a mess," she giggles, working on getting her lipstick off of his face. His own lips breaking into a wide grin. He seems perfectly content to just stand there, waiting for her to wipe her make up off of his face. And if Caroline is being honest with herself, she would love nothing more than to repeat the incident.

"There," she finally declares with a stubborn smile still etched onto her face, "all gone."

He gives her another smile, his hand catching hers before it leaves his face and planting a playful kiss on her wrist.

"Ugh you two are sickening." Katherine protests with an exaggerated eye-roll, "Your show is starting in half an hour, remember?"

"Right" Caroline chuckles. She throws the used napkin into the trash can before taking Klaus' hand in hers. His eyes immediately snap to their intertwined hands, watching them with interest. He seems almost startled at the contact, his eyes wide and almost panicking. But Caroline gives his hand a gentle squeeze. And when he looks back at her smiling face, he cannot help but beam back at her.

The calloused fingers taunt Caroline all the way to the gallery.

* * *

The feeling is foreign. His skin tingles. Her soft fingers stirring something within him. A feeling he's long forgotten existed. One that he's long since thought it gone.

His eyes keep flickering towards their still entwined hands, studying the way hers rest within his palm so delicately, so perfectly. The soft, nimble fingers are nestled against his rough ones, resting lazily. They seem so comfortable there. And he's afraid of moving too much that he might disturb their tranquility. Throughout their trip to the gallery, she chats with her friend. Yet her hand remains in his. Every few minutes she would squeeze his or her thumb would absent-mindedly caress the back of his palm. He jolts in surprise each time. Is it the intimacy behind her actions that surprise him? Her willingness to remain so close to him for such a long time? Or perhaps the obvious undeniable affection behind her touches that startles him? He does not know. All he knows is that he can spend years in this car if it means Caroline would continue to find a resting place for her hand within his.

The car smoothly slides into parking in front of Elijah's gallery. It is only then that Caroline detaches her hand from his. And it is only then that Klaus remembers the very public event he is about to step into. In spite of Caroline's and Elijah's presence, he still feels his nerves firing. It would be so tempting to stay tucked in the black vehicle and tell the driver to speed away. But this won't do. This event is important for Caroline. Even if the prospect of being at the heart of the show threatens to plunge him into panic. There is a sense of excitement mixed with anxiety assailing his senses when he remembers that the gallery will be filled with pictures of him.

No, not pictures of _him_.

But he would never let Caroline down.

Inhaling deeply, he steps out of the car. Caroline beaming at him as she tucks her arm into his when he rounds the car towards her is the first thing that greets him. And for a fleeting second he feels that the evening will go smoothly, wonderfully even. Until he's shocked out of such musings with blinding lights. It takes him a minute to realize that they are the flashes of several cameras. In spite of knowing how highly anticipated Caroline's show is, he did not expect such press to greet them at the entrance of the gallery. There are three times as many reporters as there was during his show. All of whom are flashing their cameras at him and Caroline. He can see their mouths moving, shouting at them something or somethings. He cannot tell. Katherine seems to have disappeared somewhere. Or perhaps it's just the bright spots he's seeing that prevents him from seeing her still lurking somewhere before them. A reporter steps into their space, blurting out a question onto the recorder he is holding then pointing it at Caroline who responds with a polite smile. Another blinding light goes off, closer to him. His attention snaps to the other side, noticing a man whose camera blocks most of his face shouting. Is he shouting his name? Klaus can almost make it out on his li—another light flashes right in front of them, snapping Klaus' attention to it. He looks forward to see what seems as an endless hoard of cameras awaiting them. Maybe arriving with Caroline is not a brilliant idea after all. He could have slipped in quietly. He could have told Elijah, no begged Elijah, to let him in through the backdoor. He's seen Elijah's shocked face when he told him he would be catching a ride with Caroline. His eyebrows shot up then furrowed in a deep frown.

" _Are you sure?"_ he's inquired.

Klaus has chalked up his surprise to the implication of his arrival with Caroline, which he is very well aware of. And in spite of his silence on the subject, he knew that the strength of his feelings towards her is no secret. Why not take the step of making it a little more official?

He feels a slight tug on his arm. Looking to his side, he finds Caroline's hand gently nudging him forward. Only then does he realize that he's gone completely still on the fourth step towards the entrance of the gallery. His body is completely stiff, his arm holding Caroline's in a punishing grip. He feels beads of sweat creeping onto his forehead, willing his body to move, to relax, to no avail. He looks up at Caroline, expecting her to be annoyed or embarrassed, but he only sees a reassuring, genuine smile stretched across her bright face. His body immediately relaxes, his legs moving forward. He keeps his attention on her as they clamber up the steps to the welcoming atmosphere of the gallery.

Upon their entrance, he breathes a sigh of relief. The attention is by no means over. But at least he does not have a million camera pointed at him to catch him in his worst moments. If the pictures released of him after his show is anything to go by, then those that will be released tomorrow are going to be an absolute disaster. Not that it matters. Caroline will be as astounding and captivating as ever.

His musings are interrupted by the approaching figure of Elijah.

" _Caroline, Niklaus!"_ he greets with a wide smile. He pecks Caroline on the cheek and briefly claps a hand to Klaus' shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. _"Quite the attendance we have tonight"_.

" _Yes,"_ Caroline gives him an appreciative smile, _"all thanks to your excellent advertising skills."_

" _Nonsense. Clients have been anticipating your show for far too long. All I did was let them know when to show up."_ Elijah looks around a little, before continuing, _"And where is the lovely Katherine tonight?"_

" _Lovely?"_ Klaus' eyebrows shoot up.

" _Yes,"_ Elijah gives him a warning glare that only makes Klaus smirk in amusement, _"the lovely Katherine."_

" _I have only seen so little of her, brother,"_ Klaus replies _"but I would say that she is the farthest thing from 'lovely'."_

" _Niklaus,"_ Elijah huffs _"have you no manners? This is no way to talk about a lady."_

To that, Klaus only chuckles, shaking his head amusedly.

" _Katherine is here, Elijah."_ Caroline interjects, her eyes twinkling with amusement, _"You'll find her wherever the alcohol is. She left us as soon as we stepped out of the car."_

Elijah stiffens. His shoulders going rigid the slightest bit. The change in his attitude is so subtle, so invisible. Clear only to Klaus who after years of being inseparable can pick up on all his telltale signs. He can see the slightest look of apprehension clouding his dark brown eyes, his polite smile faltering a little. His eyes flicker for a moment towards Klaus and Caroline's entwined arms. Could it po—

A hand clapping Klaus on the back makes him jump, interrupting the threesome's conversation and Klaus' line of thinking. A second after startling Klaus, Kol appears by his side.

" _Kol,"_ Elijah shoots him a glare, his concerned stance a moment before turning into an annoyed expression, _"won't you ever give up on your habit of sneaking in on people?"_

Klaus automatically replaces people with Niklaus, inwardly wincing at Elijah's blatant over-protective tendencies. Can it be that—

" _Oh, come on, Elijah, cheer up."_ Kol grins, slapping a hand forcefully on Elijah's back as the latter continues to glare at him. _"No need to be so serious all the time. I was only fooling around."_

Kol's attention diverts towards Caroline immediately after uttering his sentence in a true Kol fashion. As usual, he is unable to focus on anything for too long,

" _Ah, you must be Caroline._ " he gives her his most mischievous grin which she answers with an unimpressed smile, " _I've heard so much about you._ "

" _So have I_ " Caroline shoots back, still sizing him up.

He sticks his arm out as if to shake her hand, but when she places her hand in his, he leans in to plant a kiss on her wrist. Klaus chuckles when she snatches her hand away, a look of disgust flashing through her eyes.

" _It's too bad you haven't seen me before Nik._ " Kol continues with the same infuriating grin, unmoved by her annoyance, " _No doubt you would have chosen me as your subject then. I am, after all, the handsome brother._ "

Caroline rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. For a moment, Klaus is afraid that this single eye-roll would send her into a splitting headache for the rest of the evening.

In that moment, Elijah grabs Kol's shoulder, dragging him away from Caroline. He mutters something through clenched teeth which Kol answers with his whiniest expression. He feels Caroline's hand sliding down his arm to join with his hand and tug him away from his bickering sibling. She is still smiling at him as they venture further into the gallery and he cannot help but smile back at her. Her eyes are sparkling with excitement, but there is a hint of nervousness as well, he can tell. The sample she's shown him of her pictures the first time is all he's seen of the collection. She must be anxious to show him the rest, to see his reaction. He, too, is anxious to see them. Although his anxiety is not necessarily tinged with positive feelings.

She stops in the middle of the room, not quite leading him to where people have begun to cluster around her pictures. He shoots her a confused look when she turns around to face him, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

" _Please promise me first that you won't hate me for this._ " She tells him, her eyes twitching.

" _Hate you for what?_ " he frowns.

" _All of this,_ " she gestures around her " _for taking pictures of you for so long without your permission._ " She licks her upper lip, her eyes avoiding his. " _For intruding on your private moments_."

His expression softens. He places a finger under her chin, forcing her to look back at him, " _I can never hate you, Caroline._ "

When she directs him to the first picture, he understands with absolute certainty that he has not lied to her. Not when so much care, when so much love is put into her work. The picture is simply of his hand gently caressing a flower. The black and white image the shot is represented through only adding to the delicacy of the moment. He feels Caroline's eyes on him, gauging his reaction, burning into his skin. But he cannot—No, he would not, look back at her. He cannot muster the courage to meet her eyes. What is he afraid of? Is he afraid of what her eyes might reflect or of what his own eyes might reveal? Or perhaps he is afraid that catching a glimpse of her watching him would tug at the last tethers of his control.

So instead of looking at her, he contemplates the picture with his breath caught in his throat while his insides churn, warring against each other. Creating a mess of feelings in the wake of their battles

She seems to give up on reuniting her gaze with his, pulling him towards the next picture. This one is a full body shot of him. His back is turned towards the camera. His face almost completely turned away. The lenses barely catch a glimpse of his profile. The vibrancy of the greens around him contrasts greatly with the grey Henley he is wearing and the dark jeans. He swallows as his half turned expression stares back at him. He is assaulted by an overwhelming sadness and awe. Awed at the care and affection in which the pictures have been dealt with, at the attention she put into details in a true Caroline fashion. Yet his sadness seems more prevailing in that moment. He does not quite understand what caused such somberness to penetrate his heart. Or perhaps he does understand but does not want to think about it.

Klaus is jerked back to reality when he catches a glimpse of a strange man advancing towards them. Caroline's line of sight has already caught the figure, turning towards him. Klaus notes that she's suddenly gone rigid beside him and her smile appears to be a polite, forced one. The green-eyed man approaches them with a tight-lipped smile. His eyes flicker to him repeatedly with a blank expression. Klaus knows the man is sizing him up. After all, he is doing the same. The last thing he wants to do is be around someone who might make Caroline uncomfortable.

"Caroline," the man greets, his smile turning wider as he dares to plant a kiss on the blonde's cheek "it's been such a long time."

"Yeah," Caroline answers, her smile faltering. She follows that with a murmur that Klaus misses. He licks his lips, conscious of her guards coming up. Who can this man possibly be? An old flame, perhaps. Could he be the ex she has me—

He notices the man's arm stretched towards him, attempting a handshake while he eyes him strangely. Possibly because he's held out his arm in such position for longer than usual if the shuffling of his legs is any indication.

Klaus hesitantly shakes his hand, his eyes drawn back to his blonde goddess as she explains,

" _This is Stefan. My ex._ " She does not bother to mouth the last part while signing it for him, possibly so Stefan would not catch on.

Klaus turns back to this Stefan in time to see realization dawn on his face. And he cannot help the smile of disdain from slapping itself onto his face.

"Tell him he makes an excellent model." Stefan says to Caroline, who chuckles along with Klaus.

"He can read lips, Stefan. Tell him yourself. Just don't mutter." Caroline answers.

Stefan scratches the back of his head embarrassedly, his gaze averted.

"You make an excellent model." Stefan tries again after a moment of silence.

 _Unlike yourself._

Klaus answers with a nod of acknowledgment, even though the contemptuous smile does not leave his face.

Stefan says something to Caroline that Klaus doesn't quite catch. And soon, the two of them are engaged in a conversation that does not interest him. Instead, he busies himself with studying the lines of Caroline's face. She looks especially radiant tonight. In spite of the wall she's put up between herself and Stefan, Klaus can still sense energy radiating from her, seeping underneath his skin, threatening to intoxicate him. Her entire face is illuminated. Her sense of achievement and pride swelling up on her cheeks. And he spends every second tracing every detail of her face, committing every flicker to memory with unrelenting obsession; determined to immortalize each moment into a painting. Does she realize at all that the only thing truly worth to be photographed is she herself? No subject is worthy of the love and dedication except for the color of her hair. No model is as beautiful as the curve of her cheek. No colors are as vibrant as those that shine with her smile. Why would anyone spend time immortalizing anything that is not every inch of Caroline Forbes? Why would she waste her talent on empty shells like himself when the only beauty that ever mattered stares right back at her in the mirror every morning?

 _Empty, empty shell…_

A dark-skinned girl bounces on Caroline, stopping the latter mid-sentence with an enthusiastic hug. He sees enough of Caroline to realize that she is beaming before her expression disappears amidst the embrace of her friend who is soon joined by another girl. The threesome are smiling widely, bouncing with excitement.

 _Empty imperfect shell._

Without realizing it, he begins to wander away, suddenly feeling suffocated. Too many people, maybe. He seems to be about to bump into another human being every two steps.

Yes, that has to be it.

Too many people.

 _Empty, ugly shell._

He doesn't know how he's reached the men's room, but he bursts into it all the same. He turns on the cold water faucet, sticking his hand under it. The coolness of the water feels strangely soothing as it numbs his fingers.

 _Emp—_

He splashes the cold water over his face.

* * *

Klaus does not bother to look for Caroline when he leave the restroom, opting to wander throughout the gallery. He forces himself not to linger anywhere, a task that becomes increasingly easier as more and more people crowd in to take a better look at the pictures. His skin prickles whenever he remembers that they are looking at him.

 _No. Not you. They're not looking at you._

His strategy fails, however, when one particular picture catches his attention. It's the largest in size he's seen, placed at the center. He advances towards it with hesitant steps, melding through the small crowd huddled around it.

And he wishes he did not let it seduce him into pausing.

His somber expression faces him. His eyes are directed downwards in the picture, a part of his face turned away from the camera. Whatever he's staring at reflects nothing but helpless sadness in his eyes. The melancholy expression creating a jarring contrast with the particularly vibrant colors of the picture. It's absolutely beautiful. _He_ looks beautiful. As if some kind of a figure which has fallen from grace. Tragic by all means. But even his tragedy is beautiful.

 _No._

This is _not_ him. These are no his eyes nor is this his somber expression. The curve of the cheekbones do not belong to him nor do those moist eyelashes. It _cannot_ be him. There is _nothing_ beautiful about his sadness. His mind is a muddled mess. And he's been carrying around a heavy, blackened heart for so long. It's been misshaped and torn apart for many years now. It weighs down heavily on his soul and bleeds its pain into his tired eyes. He is not beautiful. He is not this reflection. And he finds his control faltering, shaking, under the commanding presence of this picture. It threatens to unravel itself, to snap at any moment. He can feel his insides dedicating all of their energy to staying together, to keeping him together.

He feels a presence beside him, turns around to find none other than Stefan.

"It's a good picture." The green-eyed man says. "It's a beautiful picture."

A pause. A long one that tempts Klaus to walk away. But then Stefan stops him.

"You know, I've always taken such a comfort in knowing that I am no muse for Caroline." Stefan's expression is neutral, almost casual. His eyes flickering to the picture every few seconds only to return to Klaus. "She's always been very whimsical when it comes to her muses." Stefan continues. "She would immerse herself completely in a certain idea or subject or….model until a show. Only to move on from it completely by the next one." He pauses again. And Klaus feels his heartbeats stuttering. "I never thought she would get into a relationship with any of her muses, either." Stefan shrugs, "Guess I was wrong."

Stefan's eyes wander back to the picture. But Klaus remains frozen. He swallows, waiting for the man's next words. Somehow he is absolutely certain that Caroline's ex is not quite finished.

"You do look good in these pictures." Stefan continues, looking back at Klaus. "Perfect actually." A brief pause followed by a chuckle before Stefan looks back at Klaus' face, giving him a smile. "Caroline had always been kind."

With that, Stefan walks away.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

 _Snap._

He stumbles away from the picture, he stumbles away from the crowd only to run into more of them. Somewhere off to his side he's aware of a familiar presence. But he is suffocating. The entire room appears as if it wants to stifle him. He catches a glimpse of her face, smiling but with wandering eyes, looking for him. And it does nothing but bring a sting to his eyes. The walls appear to slowly be creeping towards him. Faster, faster he moves. He is vaguely aware of the blinding flash of a camera to his right. A reporter sticks a recorder by his moth to his left. He wants nothing but to leave the building. The comforting, neutral cream color of the gallery's walls suddenly become too bright, too invading, and the pictures on it do nothing but mock him.

He stumbles on the last step of the gallery's entrance, falling. His hands barely cushion his fall as they cut into the pavement. The sting he does not feel, nor the warm red liquid seeping from the inside of his palm. Farther and farther down the street he walks. Away from the crowd. Away from the non-existent noise. Away from his own head.

But it would not do. He walks faster and faster waiting for the cool night air to seep its comfort into his pounding head.

The night, instead, bestows her perfume. Sparkling hazel eyes, long chestnut colored tendrils. Cheeks wet with tears.

 _It's too quiet._

She must have been yelling. Yet he could only see her mouthing the words.

 _It's too quiet. It's too quiet. It's too quiet._

The benevolent green of her dress sways with the wind. And the wind carries with it her tears that sting his eyes. And the tears carry with them her heartbreak to condemn his to a cruel shattering. And her heartbreak brings with it the crushing weight of silence as it washes itself over him over and over again. And he's felt everything and nothing in that moment as her hair flashed behind her and the world seemed to collapse and the earth quaked beneath his feet.

And it remained so quiet.

 _I cannot do this. It's too quiet._

His father slams him onto the bench of the piano. His cheek stings from where the slap has landed to stop his protests. He stares at the white and black keys. They mean nothing to him. Dull and contrasting and lifeless. He stares at them and wait for them to turn into a bright red or green, waits for them to turn to sweet yellow or blue. But all they do is stare back at him.

A hand grips the back of his neck, his father forcing his gaze back at him.

 _Play you disobedient child, play music._

His father, too, is screaming. And he wants to scream back at his father. Especially when his eyes sparkle with malice. His mouth twisting into a triumphant, vile grin.

 _Play, play, you fool._

The small body is huddled at the last step of their grand staircase. Unmoving, pale. His heartbeats race. His chest aching. Aching. Aching.

 _You cannot play, can you?_

He wants to scream back.

 _It's too quiet._ Her mouth is cruel and as dark as a starless night

Scream.

Henrik, brother, why won't you move? You feel so cold. Why won't you breathe?

 _Cannot hear the music? Cannot even hear the sound of your own laughter, how can you then play music?_ The hand grips him tighter.

Scream.

 _It's too quiet._

Henrik speak, Henrik! Say anything, absolutely anything. Even if I cannot understand you. Move, twitch! Brother, please, why must you be so cruel?

 _You're broken, my son. You're nothing but a stupid child. You will never be able to do anything worthwhile._ Why do you look so pleased father?

Scream. Scream.

 _I cannot do this. I cannot handle this. I tried, Nik, I tried for you but I cannot._ Won't you gather the remaining green of your dress from the floor my darling?

 _I pity you, my son._

Scream. Scream. Scream.

Henrik. Henrik. Henrik.

 _It's too quiet._

 _I pity you._ His father's spit lands onto his cheek, mixing with his silent tears.

Scream. Scream. SCREAM.

HENRIK!

Cradling the small boy's body, he screams an incomprehensible version of his name. He screams until his lungs burn and his throat scratches and he tastes blood in his mouth. He screams and it brings him no relief for even then he cannot hear the sound of his own soul being pierced. For even the night remains an undisturbed silence as his body is racked with the pain convulsing, twisting, looking for a way to break itself.

 _IT'S TOO QUIET HENRIK._

A white blinding light appears to his left, resembling that of a flashing camera. Except it's advancing towards him. Closer. Closer. Closer.

A hand jerks him back into reality.

None but Elijah's concerned eyes meet his.

 _Niklaus. Niklaus. Niklaus._

He sees his name mouthed by his big brother repeatedly but he can do nothing but stand there and tremble. Taking one shaking breath after another. Without hesitation, Elijah pulls him into a hug. His arms wrapping around him tightly, enveloping him, as if willing his shivering bones to still. As if willing his thoughts to stop their wandering. As if willing his heart to put itself back together.

Yet Klaus does not know who is holding on tighter to whom. He or Elijah.

A few moments pass before Elijah is willing to let him go. And even as he releases him from the hug, he keeps a hand on his shoulder that places itself on the back of his neck comfortingly every few seconds.

"You're OK, brother, you're OK." Elijah says, concern still coloring his features.

Keeping his hand on Klaus' shoulder, as if he's afraid the latter would step off the sidewalk and onto the street again, Elijah fishes his cellphone. Mere moments after he hangs up, Kol is pulling up with his car beside them, there is no mischief, no grins and no smiles on his face this time.

As Klaus clambers into the passenger seat, Elijah yells after Kol,

"Take him home and stay with him. I'll be there in a few hours. But I can't quite leave Caroline yet."

"Don't worry, 'Lijah. I'm not letting him leave my sight."

Elijah watches the car speed away with an invisible hand clutching at his heart.

* * *

 **Don't hate me, more is coming and everything will be explained! I promise a happy ending for this story :D**

 **Please let me know what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: No, my dear, your eyes do no deceive you. I am actually updating this. I' actually not being a little shit and uploading something new. Now, I originally said this is going to be the last part but guess what? Not happening yet. This is +5k words and I am not even halfway through to the ending. And since I have been very busy and going through so much shit that's making writing difficult, I decided to go ahead and divide the part into two so that I can post faster.**

 **I'll stop talking now. Enjoy and let me know what you think.**

* * *

They are standing in the same spot where they once danced, in the center of his hallway, right between the small living room and the dining table. It's such a narrow space she remembers worrying that they might end up stumbling over the neglected food sitting atop the table. And she remembers her worries vanishing as they swayed together. She remembers the heat of his touch through her clothing, the slight tremor of his breath as it blew over the top of her head, the small movements of his fingers, gently caressing. But most of all, she remembers the way her heart burst, the way it wanted to escape its shackles, the way it fluttered and shook and wanted to meet his. This odd space separating one half of his apartment from the other was incapable of any harm in Caroline's eyes at that time. But even it betrayed her.

Now, they stand rigid in it. Now her heart races; drums against her chest uncomfortably instead. Now his shoulders are stiff and his face is disinterested. She's been through this before, knows the dreadful feeling of watching someone's figure retreating into a darkness that will never return them back to her. It is a bitter one. Its taste is that of a million disappointments and its pain is that of a burning knife slowly entering once-untouched flesh.

But worst of all, is its haunting permanence. A shadow of unforgiving mockery, it hangs over her head. Laughs deviously whenever she looks at herself in the mirror, or pauses to take a picture: Never good enough, never good enough.

How can she take this feeling now from the eyes she's once worshipped? Those blues whose melancholy cast bright lights upon her riddled mind until clarity, so much clarity the crystal of it is almost blinding, washed over her, how can they reflect another doom of hers?

Never good enough… never good enough… never ever good enough…

Otherwise, in a world where her smile could blind the sun, and her soul could reach out and touch his heart, she would not be seeing the shadow of what once looked like love, flee from his eyes.

* * *

"Delicate. Vulnerable. Inspired."

The three words stare back at Caroline. Sprawled in large font across the newspaper. Words of praise. So many of them. Celebrating the style, celebrating the execution, celebrating the moving emotion in the heartfelt choice of Niklaus Mikaelson as the model. And none of it phases Caroline. She stares at the words and wills them to wash over her, to slather her with joy and march her into the sweet happiness of success. And yet… and yet all she can think of is how none of them matter, not when his words, not when his presence, do nothing but reject her work.

What happened? She does not know. One moment he was standing next to her, thoughtful gaze trained on her, then nothing. It's as if he slinked away, slipped through the cracks in her hands and vanished. She could not find him. Not for the rest of the evening. She looked and looked with her heart-sinking more and more at every moment. Elijah, at last, appeared. But he offered no comfort when he explained that he had left after a sudden headache through a stiff grimace masquerading as a smile. She swallowed her questions and put on a smile for the crowd.

Picking up her phone, she tries texting him for the umpteenth time.

 _Elijah said you had a headache last night, I hope you're feeling better_

 _Hi, just checking in again. Let me know if you need anything!_

 _Do you want me to stop by with soup?_

 _I really missed you today in our usual café. It's not the same without you._

 _Does your silence have to do with the show last night?_

… _Do you wanna talk about it?_

All unanswered. What should she say now? _I'm terrified that you do not want to talk to me? I'm terrified that I've offended you somehow? I really, truly, want nothing more than to see you?_ Shaking her head, Caroline throws her phone onto her bed. And letting out an exasperated huff, she flops head-first onto her mattress.

* * *

He misses the time when he could paint something other than yellow.

The rays of sunshine drip from the edge of his paintbrush, landing softly onto the wooden floor, staining it like they have stained his muddled mind. He swirls the color across his canvas, eyes burning and blurring at the line it leaves against the white sheet. So assaulting. So entrapping. So entrancing. So … her.

He no longer wants any reminder of yellow. He draws the curtains, shuts out the sunlight. The orange hues of his table-lamp are mocking, so he shuts that too. The bourdon he pours is merely a few shades darker than her hair, so it doesn't sit in the glass. He swallows it immediately. One glass after another. It won't sit there relaxing and warm. So he swallows it bitterly and ignores his numbing senses and the way his body screams for him to stop. Even as the sun sets outside and all light ceases its slithering into his room, he doesn't stop.

He misses the time when nothing reminded him of yellow.

* * *

Elijah steps into complete darkness.

Tonight, the buttons of his jacket are undone, his tie is a little crooked, the buckle of his belt just off the center, and a single hair is drooping lazily over his forehead. There is a wrinkle in his white shirt and a speck of dust on the tip of his left black shoe. And none of that matters when his brother's apartment is bathed in complete darkness

Two days. It's been two days since he's found him recklessly stepping off the curb. The lurch in his stomach would haunt Elijah for lifetimes before he can forget. He thought he wouldn't catch him. His imagination instantly conjured up the image of Niklaus, frightened, young, hopeless Niklaus, flying into the air, a bird about to be freed, only to fall against the unforgiving concrete, his head smashing, skull cracking. And where would Elijah go, and what would he do and how would he go on with the image of lifeless Niklaus sprawled against the cruel asphalt imprinted in his head?

But he did catch him. And for a moment it felt like he had just caught his own soul, and he saved him, and Kol took him home and he drank and drank and drank and they had to tuck him in as if he were eight years old again. _And you wouldn't speak to me and I gave you space and you didn't answer me and I gave you space and I gave you space and I always give you space so why are you bathed in darkness, brother?_

Elijah blinks, then swallows, then jumps at the creak of his own shoes against the wooden floors. Deathly silent. Always death silent. No music, no TV, nothing but the sound of Niklaus shuffling his figure around as if dragged or drugged. And not even this tonight. Not even this.

The darkness hurts Elijah's eyes as if red itself was bathing the living room. He blinks again. Wills the suffocating emptiness away.

"Niklaus," his voice cracks and Elijah hates Niklaus passionately for a moment. He's doing this to him again and again and again. _You are haunted by Henrik's small, curled up figure at the bottom of the staircase, cold, lifeless, cruel in its abandonment. But don't you know that it is the disinterest in your eyes, that the blankness of your soul is what haunts me, Niklaus? Your stillness and misery. And you're cruel in your disregard for me, brother. So, so cruel. So you do it again and again and again._

His fingers trace the wall next to the door, searching for the light switch. It flickers open to reveal emptiness. Niklaus is not in the living room.

"Niklaus!" the futility of his voice chokes him. How useless can words be.

He ventures further into the apartment and into the studio he stumbles. He cracks the door opened and watches the light of the living room seep into Niklaus' studio. The latter's head snaps up, looking dazedly at the silhouette of his big brother. He is hunched on the ground, back resting against the armchair he keeps in the room, glass cradled in his hand.

"Niklaus," this time Elijah's sigh is of relief. He flicks the light open in this room as well. And finds his brother sitting amidst the smell of bourbon and a flood of yellow. The canvas is smeared with it, every drawn line is a different shade of yellow and a little bit of it is tinged with blue. Niklaus' work shirt and jeans are littered with drops of sunshine, too. His hair, his chin, his hands, they're all invaded by it, even his paintbrush is dripped with it and the color has dried on it.

 _Say, Niklaus, say you aren't doing this to yourself again. Say you aren't tormenting your soul with cruel sunshine and soft, light hair strands. Say, Niklaus, say this isn't a case of green once more. You couldn't look at anything but green for weeks, and you couldn't tolerate the sight of it and it locked you up for too long in a bubble of suffocating solitude. The whole world is green, Elijah. You said. And now tell me, Niklaus, tell me the whole world is not yellow, Niklaus. Tell me you aren't looking to smother yourself in snow, in neutral white and mocking grey. Lie, Niklaus, lie and say you do not see yourself a choking, shapeless form._

" _Why are you sitting in the darkness, Niklaus_?" Elijah frowns.

A moment of silence, two and then,

" _Lights are too bright… too yellow_ "

Elijah squeezes his eyes shut, exhales, swallows.

" _I've never noticed that even bourbon is darker yellow._ "

Slowly, Elijah enters the room and joins his brother. He takes the glass of bourbon from a willing Niklaus and takes a sip.

" _How long have you been cooped up here, brother?_ "

Niklaus shrugs, takes a swig from the bottle this time. Elijah shakes his head, snatches that from his hand, too. Niklaus half-heartedly attempts to take it back.

"You've had enough." Elijah doesn't bother to sign this to him, knowing that he understands.

Niklaus sighs, looking ahead and opting for silence.

Elijah can smell the alcohol on his breath, the half-drunk bottle weighing him down. Gently, he touches him on the shoulder to get his attention.

" _She said you haven't talked to her since her gallery._ " Perhaps he shouldn't open up this subject, perhaps this will only make Nilaus close up, perhaps it isn't his place at all. But his brother's bloodshot eyes and the tremor of his lower lip plead for help.

Niklaus swallows, tears brimming in his eyes. He does not answer.

" _Niklaus, the pictures…_ "

" _It's not I in the pictures._ " He interrupts.

Elijah swallows, " _she is not Charlotte, brother._ "

" _There was nothing wrong with Charlotte, 'Lijah._ "

A second passes, then several. Elijah swallows.

" _Perhaps you should talk to Caroline, brother…_ "

The look Niklaus shoots him is of anger. Elijah snaps his mouth shut.

" _It doesn't matter, Elijah. None of it matters. Nothing matters._ "

An hour later and Elijah found himself tucking Niklaus in again. Like a child… again. Scared, confused, hurt… and now drunk. At least there is no fever to deal with. Nor does Elijah need ice to ease the pain of father's slaps.

He is about to turn off the bedside lamp when his eyes catch the book resting on the nightstand. _The Hunchback of Notre dame._ A fourteen-years-old Niklaus flashes into Elijah's mind, lying on his bed, poured over the book. A distressed expression on his face.

What has you so unnerved, brother?

He thought she loved him. But she was only being kind.

Perhaps it is time that Elijah talked to Caroline, after all.

* * *

"Get up." Katherine pulls the covers off of her, revealing her in her sweatpants and hoodie glory.

"No." Caroline pouts, burrowing her head further into her pillow. "I don't want to."

"You're being a baby." Katherine says, arms crossed over her chest.

"Then let me be a baby in bed." Caroline mutters, voice muffled by her pillow.

Sighing, Katherine strides with purpose to the foot of Caroline's bed. Taking a hold of Caroline's feet, she starts pulling her off of it.

"No." Caroline whines, grabbing onto the pillow and the sheet. As Katherine drags her, the pillow remains firmly under her head, and the bedding slowly comes off. "Leave me alone."

"You've been lying in that bed for the past three days. Moping around time is up." Katherine says through gritted teeth.

"But Katherine…"

"Caroline Forbes," Katherine starts letting go of Caroline's legs so that they dangle, halfway off the bed. "Remember what you told me the last time you had a show which Stefan dumped you during?"

A pause, "No."

Katherine roll her eyes. "You said that you just had a smashing success in your career and you were not going to allow some guy to ruin this success. And when I offered you ice cream and a round of therapeutic movies, you said no, and we went out with Bonnie and Elena to celebrate. Do you remember now?"

"Yes." Caroline's voice is defeated.

"Then why the hell are you flopped on your bed with your face buried in the pillows even though this show was even more of a success this time? Why aren't we giving Klaus the finger and having a girls' night out?" Katherine throws her hands up in the air, her expression of disbelief masking up her anger. If it is up to her, Klaus would already be dead and buried right now.

"Because," Caroline pauses, stalling as she plays with a stray thread of her pillow case.

"Yes?" Katherine arches an eyebrow.

"Because I wasn't in love with Stefan." Caroline's sigh is defeated. Her eyes burn as tears form in them, promising to spill their salty fire down her cheeks.

Katherine's shoulder sags, the anger that has sharpened her eyes softening at the weight of Caroline's melancholy.

"I don't know what to do." Caroline's whisper is so faint, Katherine barely hears it.

"I'm not all that interested in this question," the brunette shakes her head. "I'm much more interested in what the hell did you do to deserve this?"

Caroline sits up, her eyes wide, her hair surrounding her face wildly. "I didn't do anything." Her tone is exasperated.

"Exactly. He's suddenly blowing you off for absolutely no reason." Before she realizes it, Katherine's tone becomes sharper, rising along with her anger. "He left in the middle of your show, which was about him by the way, has been ignoring all of your texts the past three days. Did not bother to visit and explain. Did not even bother to send a congratulations card. And because of him, you couldn't enjoy your success. So tell me again why you think this guy is worthy of moping around because of?"

Caroline lowers her gaze. Slowly, she draws her legs together, bending them to settle her head on her knees. "I don't know." She says, thoughtful. "But I feel like I'm missing something. I feel like there is more to it than him throwing a tantrum." She pauses, takes a deep breath. "There is a reason. There has to be."

 _But what is it?_ If she can answer this question… If only she can answer this question. Leaving in the middle of the show, she can understand. Klaus has never been a people's person. But completely ignoring her? He's never done that before. Even her interactions with Elijah have been reduced to the bare minimum. Back, they were, to the days of polite smiles and professional conversations, as if the past few months, ever since Klaus declared himself a presence in her life, have not happened. As if nothing related her to Elijah other than work. As if he hadn't taught her Sign Language to help her move closer towards Klaus. As if Klaus is not a part of either of their lives. Sometimes, she finds herself wishing that it is not Klaus but Elijah who would strut in and explain. Explain everything. All the things Klaus keeps bottled up in his sad blue eyes. But he doesn't. Perhaps because there isn't anything to explain at all. Perhaps because just like that Klaus has decided to write her out of his life.

No. It can't be that.

The bed dips slightly beneath her as Katherine sits down. Her brown eyes are full of understanding, of warmth. A look she rarely ever sees the fierce, cat-like Katherine Pierce wearing.

"Listen, Care," the softness of her voice startles Caroline. Can it be that she understands? Can it be that someone understands? Can it be that she knows Klaus has left her mid stride, frozen with the dreams of the future looking more out of reach than ever, and the ghosts of the past coaxing her back? Can Katherine truly understand the impending doom of not Caroline, no, but of her art? Can she possibly understand that him leaving, disappearing like that, as if deliberately crushing her very soul, the soul that feeds her, can mean nothing but doom to a style? Can mean nothing but indecisive grey and hazy colors for her work? After all, how can she stare a subject in the eye anymore and conjure up joy when inspiration reminds her of nothing but him?

Does Katherine understand this? Say, Katherine, would he be so cruel and leave her hanging, suspended in the air, mid-jump, mid-stride, halfway stuck between Earth and Heaven?

"Listen, Care," Katherine says again, tongue darting out to lick uncertain lips. "I know you love him. And I know that more than anything you wanted this show to be for him. I know that you wanted nothing more than to show him what he truly means to you. I know that how he reacted is a huge blow. But what I know, what I understand more than anything, is that you lying here in bed is not solving anything. You're not doing anything by just moping around. It's been a week, Care. A week. You have to get up. Either do something about it, or let it go and move on."

"You're right." Caroline murmurs, grip tightening on the pillow she's been holding. "You're right."

With that, she throws her pillow, scrambles off of the bed and opens her closet. Rummaging through it, she pulls out a shirt and a pair of pants, throwing them onto her bed before walking towards her bathroom.

"Where are you going?" Katherine asks, frowning.

"I'm done mopping around. I'm going to see him."

* * *

She stands before him. Posture calm. Eyes scrutinizing. Expression neutral. As he trembles. Is it his heart that trembles or his limbs? Both perhaps. Or neither. Maybe what quivers is his mind. Or lips. As they long to reunite with hers.

" _Caroline,"_ he licks his lips. The name forever strangled in his throat. He's stood before a mirror for evenings on end before, attempting to say her name. Twist your mouth that way, move your tongue this way. Just like they've attempted to teach him one time.

E.

He remembers convincing himself that it would be a surprise. That he would call her by name to get her attention. He imagines her shocked face. He imagines her elated face. She would be happy, wouldn't she? She would want to hear it falling from his lips as much as he'd want to say it.

E.

He imagines such a name would sound beautiful. Otherwise it wouldn't belong to her.

" _Can we talk?_ "he notices the jittering of her hands.

But he would not look beautiful saying it. He would distort the name. Night after night, in front of the mirror. _Convince yourself, Niklaus. Say you will do it, boy. But you shan't_. He looks hideous in front of the mirror. He looks hideous trying to mouth it. Night after night. His mouth twists and flattens and moves and stretches and it makes no sense to him and he knows not what he's saying. Except that he looks ugly trying to say it. And he would sound even more heinous trying to say it.

" _Come on in."_ he steps away from the door.

Night after night he would snap his mouth shut. Night after night he would press his lips into a thin line. Night after night he goes to bed with the ghost of his father's slaps stinging his skin. And his mocking face behind his eyes.

He gestures for her to sit, but she dismisses his invitation with a wave of her hand.

" _Elijah says you had a rough night. The night of my show, I mean."_

Yes, rough. And the days after have been torture.

He is surprised to find that even after a billion attempt he does not seem quite able to perfect the shade of her hair color. It's slightly darker around the roots. Perhaps he must try to draw a gradient from the top of her head to her soft curls.

" _I sent you texts. You know, checking up on you."_

No, but that won't do. It's not quite that obvious. The change is much subtler than a superficial gradient. If he can only get the shade right. Maybe if he touches it, maybe the softness would guide him.

" _But you didn't answer."_ She licks her lips, looking away. Her nerves now obvious in every movement. _"So I came here to check up on you."_

Does she remember the night they danced? They were standing right in this spot. He's invited her for dinner, and she's burst in with joy itself towing behind her. She turned on the radio, he thinks. Or had a CD, perhaps. He can't quite remember anymore. And she's dragged him from his chair and made him dance with her. A slow dance. The first of his life. He's given her a look when she insisted but she laughed him off.

My favorite song. She's said. Don't worry. She's said. I'll lead you through the steps. She's said.

He needed no one to lead him though. He held her in his arms. Warm and soft and radiating happiness. They were so close he was afraid his breath was too loud. They were so close that her head rested upon his shoulder. And she sang to him throughout the dance. Her breath tickled his neck as she hummed the pains of love and sensual memories. Intoxicating. He's shivered with every word and longed for every breath.

It was the first time he realized that dancing is an embrace.

" _You look OK."_ There is a defeated look in her eyes.

He wants to reach out and smooth the frown between her brows. He doesn't.

" _Listen, Klaus,"_ She licks her lips again. Now her eyes look away. They wander from over his shoulder, back to the floor, briefly catch his face, fixate on his chest. Anywhere but his eyes, anywhere but his gaze. _"We need to talk about that night. You know, what happened in that show."_

He shrugs. Does she catch the stiffness of it? Perhaps. Though he's far too equipped at feigning indifference. _"Nothing happened."_

She murmurs something. Looking away still.

What have you come to say, sweetheart? Why are you here, Caroline? Explanations? Yes, that must be it. Why else would you step with the distress of the universe heavy on your shoulders? Why else would you look like I feel inside? But, perhaps, love, perhaps, my dear, you do not realize that words are not my strongest suit. Perhaps, love, perhaps, Caroline, you do not realize that all I want is to perfect the tantalizing yellow of your hair.

" _You haven't answered any of my texts."_ Her eyes venture back to his. _"Are you angry with me?"_

Angry…

" _The pictures…"_

" _The pictures are fine."_

He doesn't know why his eyes narrow at their mention.

 _She had always been kind._

" _Klaus…"_ Her lips are now trembling.

If he catches her lips, if he inhales her breath as she mutters his name, what would it taste like?

Angry.

" _Should I not have come here?"_

Yes. No. Yes. No. It doesn't matter.

 _She had always been kind._

Now her sparkling blue eyes hold his gaze. Now tears stretch on the rim of her eyelids. Now they wait for a single signal from him, for his permission, to leave their comfortable home and burn a trail down the smooth cheeks.

Does she understand?

He does not want to give such permit. He does not want to see even a glimpse of those pained tears, nor does he enjoy the light quiver of her lips, nor does the stiffness of her shoulders bring him any kind of pleasure, nor does he care to ever see the desperate plea etched in her incessant look.

Can he ask her for another dance?

But there's something else in her blue orbs. Something that he cannot place is glaring back at him with such unrelenting passion, with such unyielding devotion in her eyes. He's seen it before in them. Countless of times. He can hardly remember a time anymore when he has not seen it. Something other than the hurt, and the silent plea, and the heart shattering sympathy. And he wants to know what it is. Desperately. He wants to ask her what the look in her eyes means. Now. He wants to beg for an answer. Whatever it might be. The question is burning. It is absolutely maddening. And it feels like condemning himself to long years of torture to leave it unasked. But his tongue is sealed and his hands are tied and his heart is heavy and he is exhausted, oh so exhausted. So exhausted he feels the ache of his bones with every shift. So exhausted every inhale is torture. So exhausted his hollow eyes can't bring themselves to fire up like they used to before. So he tells her nothing. He asks her no questions. And he orders her tears to flee. Then he watches her with an aching chest lower her eyes to the ground, turn around, and leave.

* * *

The rain is pouring, washing the streets amidst its cacophony of melancholy. She runs towards her car, bursting into it as if her very breath depended on the space with in. Shaking, she is, quivering from head to toe. The raindrops splatter across her window, they roll down her face. Cold. So cold.

She shudders.

He said he liked the rain. They were walking out of their favorite café when it started pouring. The sky was furious that day, opened its doors wide and let everything out.

Come under the shop's roof. She said. You'll catch a cold. She said. It's freezing. She said.

He tumbled into the showers all the same. Hands tucked into jacket pocket, face down, shoulders relaxed. And he just stood there, under the waterfall. Every bit of him soaked through. He looked up at the sky, face a vision of elation, then turned to her. And smiled.

Everyone understands the rain. He said.

And now she realizes she doesn't.

* * *

The sound of cello always drifted from her house. Its somberness washed over Elijah with a peculiar sense of longing. Somewhere between true bitter sadness, and imagined, pleasurable pursued heartache, he found himself. He imagined that if Niklaus' mind played music, it would sound like a cello. He imagined that his sadness would sound as poetic as the cello's unspoken aches.

When he knocked, the sound stopped. He instantly missed it. Just how pleasing it would have been to have this conversation with the world's most morose instrument playing in the background. He should have known better, though. He imagined the elegant movements of her hands coming to a halt. She would unburden herself from the weight of the instrument, rise to her feet. A step, two, and then-

"Elijah?" the shocked question did not rattle him.

He smiled. "Good evening, Charlotte. How have you been?" The question is unnecessary. In fact, he hoped it did not come off as mocking. Her weight was supported against the door, her face was pale, her eyes swollen and red. She was, possibly, in just as bad a shape as Niklaus.

"Alright." She said. "How can I help you?"

"I was hoping that we can talk." He said, eyes flicking over her shoulder only to refocus. "About what happened between you and Niklaus a couple of nights ago."

She swallowed, expression hardening. "Did he send–"

"No, he did not." Elijah shook his head. "And you know that he would not."

She tugged at the sleeves of her over-sized sweater, until she could fist the end of each in her hands, completely covering her palms. She did not look at him.

"I came to ask," Elijah started, eyes flicking to the floor then back up to the elegant shape of hazel eyes, "I came to ask about what happened."

She licked her lips, eyes glued to the ground. "I told him I couldn't do it anymore. I ended things with him."

He sighed, gulped, felt tears spring into his eyes for a reason he did not know. "Charlotte…" He tried to reach out to her, but she backed away.

"No, Elijah, no." Her tone is a little louder than she intended. And it fell into a whisper when she added, "no. Not this time. I know you have this weird thing between the two of you, but you don't get to fix this for him. Not this time."

Her tone left no place for argument. The warmth of her eyes turning rigid before him. In that moment, he realized that he knew not why exactly he had come here. To fix things? To accuse her? Both? Neither? Maybe he thought he could somehow erase Niklaus' pain this way. Maybe he thought it would be much like that time when he fell down the stairs, cutting his knee. And in a moment of affection, his mother bent to kiss the hurt away. Oh, but he had forgotten that he was not Niklaus' parent. Nor was Niklaus a child. Nor could he reach his heart to kiss the pain away.

"Why, Charlotte? You seemed happy." His questions were futile. Useless. So why did he ask them? Perhaps all he wanted was to try and gain insight into Niklaus' mind. Perhaps it was not about Niklaus at all, but about himself. "Even when I brought up the contrast between the two of you, your music, your lifestyle, you laughed it off. Did you think you could just explore what it would be like to be with someone like him?" His tone sharpened before he realized it. Only then did he realize that he believed the accusation.

' _Till when, Elijah, until when you'll use yourself as Niklaus' shield?_

"There is nothing wrong with Klaus." Her answer lacked the defensive tone he expected. Rather, she was quiet as she spoke, composed. A tear or two began gathering at the corners of her eyes. "His difference never bothered me. I didn't care that there was so much silence in his world. On the contrary he calmed me down. And I loved him. God, I _love_ him." A tear slipped from her eyes. "But his love was suffocating me. In ways I can't explain, Elijah. Not to you. In ways only he can understand but he never speaks to me. He never bothers to say anything. Ever. It's as if everything inside him is dead." She takes a deep breath, averts her eyes to the floor, takes another breath. He feels the weight of her tears against his hear. "It doesn't matter what you say or what you do, Elijah. It doesn't matter how he feels, it doesn't matter how much in pain he is. I cannot do this anymore."

"I think he loves you." He hated how his voice got strangled in his throat.

"I think he doesn't." she shook her head.

Elijah's head dropped, concentrating on keeping his tears at bay.

"Take care of him, Elijah. And, please, don't come back."

Now his phone is in his hand. Caroline's name sprawled on the screen. All he has to do is press a single button. All he's been attempting to do for the past few days is press said button. His conversation with Charlotte, something that seems from another lifetime, keeps coming back to him. Holding him back. After all, what good it did that confrontation do Niklaus. Except…

He presses dial and waits.

"Hello, Caroline. I need to speak with you. Shall I buy you breakfast tomorrow?"

Perhaps this conversation, too, will not be about Niklaus.

* * *

 **OK don't hate me. I promise you'll get a happy ending for this story. Cross my heart.**

 **Let me know what you think please!**


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